


The Butcher

by SketchLockwood



Category: 15th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, The Sunne in Splendour - Sharon Kay Penman, The White Queen (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2020-10-29 21:17:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 27,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20803136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SketchLockwood/pseuds/SketchLockwood
Summary: The life story of John Tiptoft, Earl of Worcester and close adviser to both Henry VI and Edward IV.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writeranthea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeranthea/gifts).

**Chapter One**

_Leicester_

_Late May 1450_

It was midnight and an emergency council had been called. John Tiptoft, newly made Earl of Worcester, sat alone. The hall was modest, less extravagant than the great hall of the palaces the King usually hosted his councils in. Around him men talked, they spoke amongst try themselves as though nothing were wrong.

Of course, John knew something had happened, why else would the king summon them all so suddenly? Why else would he call a council at midnight? No, something had happened. Something he needed his ‘rods to be aware of.

That said, there were notable absences from the hall. Richard Duke of York was a name which, among many in the room, evoked controversy. Quite positively, the room was divided in opinion about him. Whilst some thought he was level-headed, some even thinking he had a better claim to the throne than king Henry, others thought him treacherous – a man who offered false advice to the King in a plot to take the throne for himself. Spurred on by the Queen, that opinion was gaining momentum.

John himself did nor know. York was his cousin through their maternal line. Both descended from the Mortimer Earls of March. He tried to hold little opinion for the situation, tried to stay out of the bickering that was so common amongst the nobility. He could not stand it. York was in Ireland now, so what did it matter?

Bickering was not the only thing to worry about these days either. Earlier in the month the body of William de la Pole, the Duke of Suffolk had been found at Dover – beheaded and humiliated. He had contributed to losing half of France and the men of the Commons – the House John’s own father used to command those years ago – had insisted on his imprisonment. King Henry had made the choice to try and appease all sides and banished de la Pole without further word last month. It had served William to no avail and still he had lost his head.

The significance of losing France resonated with everyone, even John who himself was no fighter had been appalled when word had reached England.   
  
It was a fucking disaster. 

John looked up as the doors flew open. The man who entered was one who knew how to make an entrance, to make his presence known and was a man that John himself knew very well. Richard Neville, the Earl of Warwick was John’s brother in law. The man stood a moment, his eyes scanning the room before they fixed on John. He smiled as he approached with heavy footsteps.

“John, brother.” Warwick offered in his lowest voice as he reached Worcester’s side.

“Richard.”

“How fairs my sister? It has been months since I saw her last.” He smiled. “There have been rumours that she is with child?”

“You should know better than to listen to rumours.’

“Like I should know better than to listen to rumours that there is rebellion in the South? John just shrugged. Uprisings were not uncommon, and usually were small affairs. If this was truly why the council had been called they had nothing to worry about.

John had been about to say that rumours can also be true when the door opened and King Henry marched in with Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset at his tail. Somerset was, in many people’s opinions, too close to the King and even closer to the Queen. Rumours has spread around minor nobles that the Queen had her head in Somerset’s lap. All because he was their closest advisor. Closest advisor and York’s sworn enemy. The men had never and would never get along. That much had become clear in recent years. The tension had been growing and John, as the King’s ward, had noticed.

The king took his seat. “Hello Gentlemen. For those who do not yet know why we have called this council, there is talk of a rebellion in the South in Kent. Whilst this was, at first, peaceful, unrest has started to occur. Men are calling for our removal. We shall send our closest and most experienced men to bring this to a halt.”

“Shouldn’t always believe rumours eh?”

John ignored Warwick as the King continued. “As per the advice of my lord Somerset, we are sending Humphrey and William Stafford, our experienced friends and allies to detain all those involved and see them brought to proper justice.”

**

_London  
July 1450_

A month had elapsed since Henry had ordered his midnight council. Since then the situation had gone from bad to worse. What had started as a peaceful protest was now full-scale rebellion. The King had ordered, under advice from Somerset, that the court be moved back to London. He wanted to be nearer to the rebellion and thus, in Henry’s words, closer to defend his capital. He wanted to have a display of authority in a capital growing increasingly tired of the taxes these Kentish rebels complained about.

Of course, it made sense to be in London. It made sense to make authority known, because if London rebelled, it could topple a King, or hold him at ransom to obey their commands – after all, it had happened before.

John knew the King had called another council meeting because the rebels had first reached Middlesex and now London and they would not be quieted. They demanded the removal of the King’s advisors such as Somerset and the return of the Duke of York from his compulsory leave in Ireland.

What was worse however was that the rebel leading the men went by the name of John Mortimer. That had got the court talking. Some sympathised, that had been observed and those who did had been punished with fines. Others spoke curses against the obvious candidate. Richard Duke of York, and indeed John too, were related to the Mortimer’s through their maternal blood line. If anyone was to blame in all of this, the obvious candidate for those who hated him was the absent Duke of York – the heir to the throne of England.

Yet despite the King’s orders, and the claimed urgency of the situation, John had stated that he would not be attending Westminster today. Instead he sat in a darkened room hotter than hell. Curtains covered windows jammed closed to keep ill humours out. His wife Cecily lay abed, her skin covered in sweat with her head rested on his chest. Her physician had already barked orders at him to leave more than once. Had already told him it was not safe for him to be there. Yet he did not listen.

“John?” Her voice was growing weaker. He noticed that. Every minute that went by was like she was fading away. He kissed the top of her head, held her hand as she grasped for his. “You’re still here.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good.” She smiled. “You should though. I’m dying John-“  
  
“No.”  
  
“Yes. There is no good denying it, it is obvious, and it won’t help you to pretend it is otherwise.” She wheezed in another breath. He felt her lift her head from his chest before she lowered it gently back. “The hour is growing late.” She whispered. “You should pray for me.” He already had, before he had even entered this room, he had prayed to God that if he could not save her that at least he might be merciful to her soul.  
  
His hand tangled in her hair, stroke gently. For several minutes he thought he felt her drift into sleep or…

No, he would not think that, not yet.

“You should be at the palace, whatever the King has to say is more important than being here John.” He sighed, there was no telling this woman that she was wrong. He had learnt that in the past year of marriage to her. He moved only as she moved her head onto the cushions. “John.” He paused as he sat at the edge of the bed. “Thank you.” He tried of muster a smile before he left the room, grabbing the physician’s arm before he could go to enter.

“Tell me if the situation changes.”

“Of course, my lord. You’ll be the first to know.” With that he pulled his arm away and closed the door behind himself.

He did not then intend to fall asleep. Even as he threw himself down onto his own bed, even then he had told himself that he would not sleep. Could not sleep for what if Cecily needed him? Yet his eyes had closed and within the hour he had fallen into fitful sleep. It was dawn when the door closed, waking him. “My Lord.” The physician spoke softly. John sat up, recognising that tone. The same tone his mother had used when he returned from Oxford to find his father forced to his deathbed by Irish miscreants, the same tone the Cardinal Beaufort had used when he had broken the news of his mother’s death. “I am sorry-“  


“You were supposed to tell me before! To update me as situations developed!”  
  
“You were asleep my lord.”  
  
“I could not care if I was at Westminster!” John sighed, running his hands through tangled hair. “When?”  
  
“Around midnight.”   
  
“Fuck.” He whispered. He had left her close to eleven.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_London _

_September 1450. _

In a little over a month of absence from court it was like he had walked into a fresh new world. York had returned from Ireland and England had lost the rest of France. Moreover, Somerset had left troops in France to be mowed down like lambs to slaughter. The only thing that indeed had not changed was that York and Somerset were at each other’s throats – now more than ever before.

John in truth had no time for it. Two men bickering like boys in a classroom.

All the same he would ensure it he was present for King Henry had summoned him to the Palace along with several other men whom his grace described as having ‘rank and intellect, quite unlike those with whom I must surround myself.’ Perhaps both Duke’s would be furious with the king if they knew of how he spoke about them. John grinned at that thought, maybe that would silence their squabbling for a whole a minute, maybe for once their opinions would be the same.

No, it was likely they would force themselves to disagree even over that.

John looked around the room in which he sat. York and Somerset sat opposite one another, both had been silent for several minutes and up until this point had been civil. Yet John could see the fires burning behind York’s eyes. After all, everyone at court knew he blamed Somerset for his temporary exile, and none at court would dispute that – even if some did cheer Beaufort for it.

Henry’s Court was becoming an increasingly divided place. An increasingly dangerous place. Quite unlike the days when Tiptoft’s father had served under Henry’s father and grandfather. The world was changing, and not for the better.

“Your grace.” Richard of Salisbury was one of the greatest men in the room, Warwick’s father, the man had been until recently John’s own father in law, and indeed he felt affection, respect for the man. He would hear anything that the man had to say but now he feared he did not want to hear the words. He could not cope with another round of fighting, “Shall we talk your grace of France?”

With those words, the tension could be cut with a knife.

“What if France?” Somerset sounded defensive.

“I was merely enquiring as to whether his grace the King had any plans, any thoughts on how we should proceed?”

When the King, in a moment John would continuously regard as one of his greatest moments of failure, one of the moments he failed to bring the court back under control, was silent, unresponsive, as though none had talked to him or even mentioned him. That gave York the opportunity to speak.

“The way we should proceed is to not have lost France at all.” Her glared at Somerset as he spoke. “Should not have left hundreds of worthy Englishmen to die and be slaughtered under what should have been our watch. We should not have been cowards who surrendered to the French!” Salisbury sighed, looked around the room trying to catch the eyes of anyone who may intervene. John averted his gaze.

How he hated conflict and yet all could see where this was going. There was now no avoiding it.

York continued. “My lord Somerset, gentlemen, did not even have the balls on him to surrender to our King’s French subjects. Instead, he chose to lose us this war not through a way in which he might sacrifice himself but through the easiest way to save himself and at the greatest cost to life – he fled. Yet, he has full rule in the court of King Henry, he has total influence. Do we want a man like that, with such notable military credentials helping to rule this country or should he be thrown into the Tower?”

“The best thing for this country would not have been to continue a pointless war with France, the country of the Queen’s birth. It would have served us little when we were losing ground and bleeding money this country doesn’t have, we were costing the taxpayer money and they were growing resentful – in case you have nit noticed with open rebellion running free in this country. Our attentions need to be focused in dissolving rebellion at home-“

“With respect, Edmund, you chose to bleed England dry of funds when you led those men in France, then you drown France in the blood if the English in quite the contradiction to the great victory of Agincourt-“

“Shortly after which your father was executed for being a traitor was he not Richard?” Somerset interrupted York’s speech. “Like father like son, I would say the best place for you would be back in Ireland but given the rebellions we have seen there in the not too distant past? I’d say you may have them rise against England. So tell me now, your grace.” Somerset looked to the King who did not so much as glance at him. “Who should be thrown in the Tower to rot?”

“I do not think that York would cause and uprising and my Lord Somerset did not deliberately lose France, and neither should be thrown in the Tower-.” John allowed the words to roll off his tongue before he had time to think about the potential consequences of them. He bit his lip and looked down, not letting out any more of what he wanted to say, not getting up and banging their heads together.

“Tell me your grace.” It was Somerset who spoke. “Why do we have scholars in the room, not soldiers, who talk as though they understand military affairs. Whilst my Lord of Worcester makes a good point, it holds no value. I did not lose France, there are plans to recover it even as we speak and as a man who knows positively nothing of rebellions, their causes or how to quash them, I recommend my Lord to keep his opinions to himself.”

John frowned as he saw the King smile, saw the amusement in his eyes as York spoke.   
  
“I agree, scholars have little place in the role of advising King’s on military matters-“  
  
“And yet neither of you seem to want to give me much credible advice.” Henry finally snapped. “In fact all you both seem to want to do is waste the time of myself and every other good man here with your bickering and whining. If you do not both silence yourselves I will have you both escorted to the Tower without a moments hesitation.”

He usually, almost always, took little satisfaction in being right but then John looked away as he grinned.   


**

“John!” Tiptoft recognised the voice of the Earl of Warwick as he chased him down the hall. John turned, looked into the Earl’s eyes the man was so close to him. He stepped back. Warwick was three inches taller, and a heavier build. A stronger man more generally, John knew, and a man who would in time make a fierce warrior he was sure. Though none may ever know, he thought, for with France lost, did England need warriors - especially inexperienced warriors – to retake her? “John I wanted to say that what you did in there was foolish. Brilliant, yes, but foolish.”  
  
“I am aware, and I did not intend to question them.”  
  
Warwick waved a hand. “Someone needed to. My father talked to me about it. He says that you are a bloody fool. Yet, he won’t stand up to Somerset, and won’t use his influence over my aunt to persuade York to stop his bickering. He wants his fingers in both pies, and who can blame him.” Warwick looked around. “Shall we walk?”

John nodded.

“The signs of this are not good. If I recall, there were King’s who had problems controlling their nobility. King John was restricted-“  
  
“King Henry III was caught by his own rebels and held at ransom until he was rescued by his son and shall we go no further in fear it may lead to more treasonous talk.”  
  
“Yes, but in the case of our own King Henry, he has no son to rescue him and so who would act as his son? York, his heir? Or would it be Somerset?”  
  
“I do not understand.”   
  
Warwick sighed. “You are not a stupid man John, understand this, I tell you as a friendly warning. Only God has the power to control what will happen, but I would suggest, if I did not know better, that the Duke’s will end up in bitter rivalries-“  
  
“Are they not already?”  
  
“Things in politics can grow more bitter, do not ever forget that John. When they do I fear there will be bloodshed. King’s have been incompetent before this, and the consequences have been severe.” John only offered a firm nod as he was guided down the steps with Warwick’s hand behind him. “Understand this, neither man in that room will have been happy to hear your opinion, and neither is a man you want to, or indeed can afford to make an enemy of.”  
  
“And you? What can you afford?”  
  
“I can afford to choose a side, but trust me, I do not wish to. Take my father’s advice, take neither side and serve the King. Your father was a loyal subject, and trust me when I say King Henry will always look on you favourably, you can be sure of that.”

**

_London_

_Late September 1450_

The rain was pouring from the sky. “God is pissing on us I am sure.” Salisbury stated as he adjusted himself on his horse. “He is unhappy, and that is how he reacts.”

Like the floods of Noah’s time.

John waved off the comment, whatever the crimes of the land they could not be so bad that God would once again cause such disasters. Yet who knew? Who truly knew?

The only thing that could be known was that order needed to be restored and that was increasingly obvious even to those not military minded. Henry was becoming more easily influenced though found it harder to choose between his bickering lords. The Duke of York invested much of his time in ensuring that order was restored to England – for after all, amidst a tide of rumours following Cade’s ‘Mortimer rebellion’ that York intended to usurp the throne for himself, York himself had claimed that the sole reason for his uninvited return from Ireland was to restore order to a kingdom rapidly losing control.

The common people called for change. Many of them would have backed any rebellious noble with half a claim to the throne. York fit that bill. Thus far he had done naught for the common people to hate him – quite the opposite, he spoke the words which no one else would and he had what to took, in the eyes of those outside the court, to bring back order and remove an incompetent King.   
  
Still York insisted that was not his intention.

As such, he had arranged a power display for the people of London, at the centre of which would be the King. Notably, John had realised early on, the Duke of Somerset would be excluded. Not that this should have surprised the young Earl. Beaufort would not have towed the line to restore the King’s power, if only because York said so.   
  
Now, they were outside of the city’s walls, within a sea of 10,000 men. 6,000 of which were armed and ready in case the reaction to this was violence. None, even Worcester, had failed to realise that the consequences of this could be outright rebellion or an assassination attempt. Henry was increasingly unpopular. They moved at a pace which agitated John’s horse. The creature stumbled below him.

He was not used to campaigns, nor taking part in such displays. Yet increasingly Henry had insisted on surrounding himself with those of a learned nature. For they were ‘the only men in this cursed world we can trust’. The King rode two men ahead, York at his side. He would keep Henry close and had said so himself – as though Henry were a prisoner or a child who could not be trusted to behave.

York had already encountered problems this morn. The Queen had protested at York’s involvement in this demonstration – had complained it had happened at all but stated that if it must it was to be Somerset who led the march. She had apparently been less than pleased when York had ignored her words, helping the king to mount his horse before they left Westminster for the city.

Salisbury rode behind him, his horse giddy with the excitement as they rode through the city gates and into the crowds. “We aren’t the only ones that sense the tension.” Salisbury uttered to John as he moved his mount closer. The crowds shouted for Henry, though the atmosphere was forced. York’s name was called and men cheered when they saw him.

John could not help but wonder what would happen wit all of this, could not help but think the whole matter would end in disaster.


	3. Chapter 3

Cade’s rebellion had left scars. It’s mark could be seen all over England. There was still unrest and none could deny the truth; whilst the rebellion had been quashed, no one had been publicly brought to justice. Cade himself had met a sticky end, but none had seen it, none had learnt their lessons. 

The King has done little to actively stop the threat against himself. He had relied on the likes of Somerset, a man who thus far had failed in his duties to safeguard the King from treasonous intent. When it came to it, he flailed like a child in water. York had therefore ordered the trials to commence without further delay - he had ordered that there be no leniency.

Trials had, in almost everyone’s opinion, been unacceptably delayed. John himself had been assigned a role on the oyer and terminer. The official trial held for such events. Oxford had sat beside him with Warwick. They had discussed too many cases, so many John’s head had been pounding on the first day of five. Most men admitted their guilt, only some pleaded innocence. A claimed innocence that saw an example be made of them. 

York’s word had been law in that court. No mercy was shown to the condemned. No more, Oxford had stated repeating York’s words, would those who threatened both the peace and body of the King would be allowed to prosper with a mere fine. Their treason exposed, they would pay the ultimate price. 

Had John been uncomfortable with so many deaths? Perhaps. Though it was a necessary evil. Of course he saw it’s purpose. If Oxford was to show leniency for the crimes of these men, then the King showed leniency and encouraged disorder and further rebellion. John had been quick to understand that in his youth. 

Yet so many deaths... 

John frowned as he downed another tankard of ale. He held up his cup, smiling to the barmaid as she filled it. He had not expected to be approached, had not wanted the company of anyone when the lady sat herself opposite him. “I’ve been watching you. You do not think you’ve had enough?”

“You’d know if I had.” His voice held no hint of a slur. John knee he could do many things. Taking his drink was one such activity he had mastered. She smirked in a way that made him sit up from his slump. Her lips were of perfect formation, her eyes a glistening green. Her skin so white it could have blended with snow. How perfect she was. “Are you alone madam?”

“That depends what you mean?”

“I mean, if you are married this is indecent, if you are not it is unseemly.” 

“Hmm. That may perhaps be the case but let them gossip. I could not care.” She grinned. “My name is Lady Elizabeth Greyndour by the way.”

“John-“

“Earl of Worcester, I know who you are. I know why you are here drowning your sorrows. Of course people are furious that those men were sent to their deaths, so many of them God receive their souls and have mercy, but the people will come around. Not as furious with a few necessary executions under the King’s law as they are with the Duke of Somerset for his part in the slaughter of those men in France. Trust me, I have a way with people they’ll tell me anything. I could get them to spill their innermost secrets, without the need for the brutality most men in power would use.”

Did she hit at him? He did not know if he truly jolted back, or whether he only felt he should. 

“In answer to your question, I’m not married. Widowed and fatherless. A woman alone in this world. Therefore there is no one for the gossip that I was alone with a man to fall to. Except my mother, but, if you’ll forgive my language, she no longer knows her arse from her elbow.”

He spluttered with laughter. Taking a moment to compose himself before he told her.

“If you’re looking for a guardian? You’re looking the wrong way.”

“I’m looking for love.” She wriggled her eyebrows. He knew she joked. It was clear. 

He scoffed, drinking more of the ale. “You’re definitely looking the wrong way. If you know of me well enough, then you’ll know I was widowed less than a year ago.”

She frowned. “You’re not the only one John, I can call you John?” He nodded. 

“If I can call you Elizabeth.” She smiled. “Do you not feel you should not be alone here?”

“I’m not alone, unless you’re talking to yourself.”

“I said I’m not your guardian.”

“You’re worried that I cannot hold my own here? With me surrounding us? You underestimate me sir.” She grinned. She held up her cup. “Shall we?”

***

Morning came and his head ached, his stomach in spasms. He reached for the chamber pot before he chucked up his guts. He had not looked around the room, had not taken in his surroundings. That was why he jumped when he heard her voice. “Did you drink too much John?”

“What? He whispered, looking around.” 

“You’re at my own London residence. You insisted I should be walked home and that you were the man to do it.” He frowned, looking her up and down. “Nothing happened, I was worried you’d choke on your tongue. You fell asleep at such an awkward angle.”

Word would spread. John knee that, word would spread to court and then what? 

He would soon find out for when afternoon came and he stumbled into the court, Warwick sighed. “I’d say you pulled a good one last night, except it’s not even been a year since my sisters death and already you’re up another woman’s dress.”

“I have positively no idea what you’re talking about.”

“It’s all over London.” Warwick uttered. “Well with anyone who is anyone. She’s a lady.”

“And a widow. So what if something did happen, which it didn’t. I merely drank too much, went to take the lady home and fell asleep.” John snapped. “Not that I have to justify myself to you Richard.” 

“It’s meaningless? There’s nothing more to read from this?” 

“Nothing at all.”

***

One visit became several, each more intimate than the last. She had suggested it in April that they could be a good match, if only he were to make it official. She had been asked to marry him two days later. Royal license had been approved and now they were wed in June. 

It was, John knew, a reasonable match. Whilst he had held affection for Cecily, indeed he had loved her, doted on her, she had expected treatment more than he could afford to offer her. A duchess who came from one of the wealthiest families in the Kingdom... 

Elizabeth by contrast was bonnie, undemanding and whilst an heiress, she was almost penniless by now. If one excluded her properties. 

Her father had been a knight before his death and her dead husband had been Lord de la Warre. 

She was also his elder by almost 7 years. At 24, some thought that was bold. Six years his senior, some tutted at her in the street, yet she did not care. Nor did he. In truth he could not recall being so happy. Even with Cecily, even with her. 

That had not stopped his writing to the monks he had studied with at Oxford. Had not stopped him declaring love for a wife lost. Had not stopped him ordering more masses to be said for her soul. 

“John.” Elizabeth came up behind him in the darkness. He knelt before the cross. “You miss her?” He nodded as she pulled his head to her belly, caressing his hair. “I miss him, my first husband. We always will miss them, I feel.” She smiled, he felt her smile as he stood, bringing her tight to his chest in a long embrace. “Do not be angry with me.” She whispered. 

“Never.” She handed him the jewel he almost dropped. “You found this?” He ran his thumb over the gem. “It’s supposed to help in childbirth.” He shook his head. “Not that we had chance to test it. It was a gift, Cecily’s father. Richard of Salisbury gave it to us to protect her when with child.” He handed it to her. “Maybe we will need it.”

“We should.” She grinned. “With any luck. I am already with child John.”

“You’re sure?”

“As sure as I can be.”


	4. Chapter 4

December 1451

They had escaped the hell that was London. The streets had started to ice over just before they left for the city and John had known if they waited just two more days it would have been impossible to leave. 

They had needed to leave London, needed to get away from the memories. Elizabeth had miscarried soon into her pregnancy. It had been John who, despite himself, reacted badly. That was his reasoning for escaping the city.

Elizabeth had been giddy with excitement to see his family home. So giddy indeed that once they reached the manor, upon seeing the frozen lake she had insisted on donning skates and he had worried she’d break her neck on the ice. 

Yet she had not and now they warmed their hands by the fire. “It is a lovely house.” He nodded, the memories here were happy. His sisters, two of whom were already here with their husbands. “Your sisters are nice too.” He smiled. 

“Joan is a pain in the arse.” He muttered. “She always used to pull hair and push me over. I think she was jealous. She always was the only son before I was born. You’ll meet her-“ He grinned. Looking up as the door opened and Joan walked in. 

“John!” She hurried toward him, wrapping her arms around him. “How are you?” 

“Well.” He kissed her cheek. “Tell me, how are you? And the children?”

“Isabel is boisterous. Too boisterous, and she associates with your brother in law John too much.”

“He is a good lad.”

“And she is a young lady who should not spend so much time romping with young men.”

“If I recall-“

“You are my brother! It is quite different and you know it.” He smirked. “And this beautiful lady must be Elizabeth.”

“I am.”

“Joan.” John watched as Elizabeth tensed as Joan wrapped her arms tight around her. 

**

“She’s always been a tactile creature.” John said to Elizabeth that night as he brushed her hair. “Always been one to wrap people in embraces.”

“I do not mind. I just did not expect her to be so firm when he brother is so gentle.”

“I’ve told you, she makes a better son to my parents than I do sometimes.” He laughed kissing her head before he continued brushing. His hand however paused at her next words. 

“We should try for another child John. You need an heir and should not let one poxy miscarriage alter your perceptions. God willed it was not time and unless you wish to curse God, then we are to continue with life as He has posed us a challenge.” 

It’s how you react now John that God will judge you on... he thought the words of his friends at the monastery. They were an influence he could not forget. 

“Elizabeth, I don’t know what if you-“ he flurried his fingers in a wave which indicated a word he could not say. 

“John, women do sometimes miscarry.” 

“But-“

“John, do you not think these women’s matters?”

“Until it makes you so very ill.”

“And now I am well, John. You need not worry.”

He took her hand, kissing her and with his hands on her rear, he pushed her away from the fire and towards the bed. “Shall we pray for a boy?” 

She smirked.

***

“So John.” Philippa let the words roll off her tongue before he knew she had chance to think about them. “Did you have fun last night?”

“What?” He whispered, kicking her under the table, only to have his leg slapped by Elizabeth. 

“I’m quite positive we have no idea what you could be talking about Philippa.” John noticed she did not blush, not at all, even managed to look neutral without appearing too innocent. Cecily would never have been able to do that. Never. She’d have been bright red. 

He looked in a state of admiration as she did not react to his sisters next words.

“Well, I for one heard when I walked past your room last night-“

“Philippa! How unseemly of a lady to talk this way.” Joan stated.

“I’m sorry for my wife’s actions lady Joan.” Joan nodded. “John.” He waved a hand. “Lady Elizabeth?”

“Oh it does not worry me. Though I would say my husband does not think it talk for the breakfast table so shall we move on?” There was silence for a minute. “Say ladies, shall we head to the market today? Buy some silks and satins and we can have them made into new dresses, let the men play cards and talk affairs of state.” 

“Well only if John says yes.” Edmund, Joan’s husband, offered. 

“You think I could stop this woman? If I wanted to and tried? No Edmund, the force of a thousand God’s could not stop her.”


	5. Chapter 5

5th February 1452  
Coventry

Christmas had been relatively uninterrupted, and for that he had been glad. However, his enjoyment of the time he spent away from court could not last forever. He had not wanted to return to the chaos, not to the bickering. Elizabeth formed a comfort zone and in her second pregnancy, he had wanted to shelter her. No more, she was alone in that manor. He dismounted with speed. He threw the reins to one of the stable boys. “Feed and water him.” He tossed three coins before he set off at a stride into the building Henry had chosen to assemble the lords in. 

One man would be notably absent, John was sure of that. 

Edmund Beaufort had been named in correspondence which would be used today. John had already received word of that in Cambridgeshire. He did not need a Parliament to tell him. That was why he was reluctant to climb the steps two at a time in order to reach the hall as fast as he could. 

He heard chatter outside the room, knew they had begun without him. That was why he was rosey cheeked as he opened the door as silently as he could. 

“I say-“ the lord did not finish his words as the king craned his neck. 

“Very kind of you to join us John.” Henry’s voice was laced with sarcasm. He left John bowed for more than a minute before he offered a hand wave for him to rise up. 

“I am sorry I am late your grace. I came as fast as I could and would have been faster had my horse not slipped on ice and broke its leg.”

“You seem well for such an incident.” Oxford offered with a shrug. 

“Oh be quiet.” John offered. “I don’t think we have all been called here for you to make wise remarks.”

“No, so we shall continue.” The king offered in a voice so deadpan the room was so silent a pin dropping would sound like a shout. “Edmund.” He sighed.

The letters had come from the Duke of York, been intercepted at Ludlow and called Somerset a traitor. Whatever John himself may think, this was pretty damning for his cousin. “Thanking your grace. So York swears I am a traitor and he calls for men from Ludlow, Shrewsbury, Hereford and Telford to gather at his Welsh marches castle and there ‘make merry’, most likely with a plot to see everything before us here destroyed. He declares me a traitor, do we all want to sit and hear this?”

“I for one do not.” The voice was of man that John failed to recognise.

Everyone looked at the boy with surprise. “Who?” John whispered to Salisbury as the older man sat in front of where Tiptoft stood. 

“Henry Holland, Duke of Exeter, son in law to York and his ward too. No wonder half the men of England will be shocked when they hear of this.” John chuckled. 

“Is something funny my lord Worcester?” Holland spoke to  
him in a haughty voice, one that stated implicitly that the Duke thought himself better than John. Tiptoft scoffed to himself. “I do not see amusement in this situation, as for you Neville.” The tone said ‘old man’, for that John glared. “You should not encourage him.” 

“Forgive me.” John said, ignoring Holland as though he was not even there when he looked away. “but I have not read the letter myself I must ask now why York accuses you of treason? There must be reason.”

“A good question.” King Henry offered. He pretended not to know the answer, looking to Somerset.

“With a simple answer.” Somerset spoke over their king. Henry in truth looked irked by that. “He states I surrendered France both deliberately and knowingly by asking the the King of France to invade Gascony.” 

“Which,” the lady sat beside Henry had been quiet until now. She rarely spoke much in court, except alone in small company. Her thick French accent made her unpopular. “Is frankly ridiculous.” 

“Ridiculous and it gets worse. He states that he is trying to safeguard the king and that I did not allow the King to listen.” 

“Would you believe it?” Salisbury mouthed to John as Somerset went on, listing crimes York had supposedly committed.

“No.” His voice was laced with sarcasm. “But If York is such a risk.” John asked Salisbury, catching Warwick’s attention also. “Why are we in Coventry, not ready to defend the king in London?” 

*** 

27th February 1452  
London

They had made it back to London days before York had crossed into the city. Somerset had wanted to lead with open aggression, wanted to fight the fire with more fire. John had frowned at that thought. Yet it was Salisbury who had been the voice of reason - a voice which Henry had thankfully listened to. 

As such, Henry had sent out an embassy to negotiate with York. A man who John realised was growing more and more unreasonable. His and Somerset’s constant bickering had turned toxic and now it would impact the entire country. 

Henry had chosen to keep John close, a constant calm which the King now desired most.

The embassy had ridden out that morning in the snow. The Bishops of Winchester and Ely, Earl of Warwick and Lord Sudeley not to mention Salisbury himself. 

“I do not see the point of this my love.” John looked around as the Queen spoke with her husband. “We should just have him arrested. Arraigned on a charge of treason and he can be tried appropriately-“

“And what would that achieve?” Henry snapped. “Why do people think they can tell me what to do? Do they think I’m an imbecile? I expect it from the likes of Edmund Beaufort, Margaret, but you? You are my wife.” 

“And I want what is best for you-“

“No, you want what is best for you. York is my cousin, and he has ever been a good advisor. He is pressured, and now he responds like this.”

“You excuse him?”

“With respect your grace.” John saw her spin on her heels, glare at him. “I do not think he excuses his behaviour, but wants you to understand why he is taking the action he is.” 

“That may be my lord but I am advising my husband on the action I would take-“

“It is not your action to take Margaret.”

The doors opened with those words, making the King jump upright in his seat. John was on his feet, only Margaret stayed in her position, seething as Warwick entered with He deepest of bows. 

“Your graces.” He spoke gently. “My lord of York has given his demands.”

“Demands.” Margaret scoffed. “Like he has a right to demand anything of us.” 

“He does not, my lady, but he makes them all the same.”

“What are they man?” Henry snapped. 

“He requests that Somerset be removed as an advisor, removed and thrown in the tower. At least that he be arrested.” 

“No.” Margaret barked. 

“Margaret.” Henry warmed. “I would have some time to think on this, would you send word to my cousin and let him know I shall consider his request.”

***

10 March 1452

Consider it he had and with Margaret’s influence they had sent word to York on the 1st of March that Somerset had been arrested. John did not know how long it would have been before York had thought it a lie. Had he walked into the Kings presence unaware? Unaware he was walking into a trap?

John did not know, for he had been in the safety of London’s walls when York had stood alone at Dartford, not far from where the King had decided to ride out to meet him. 

Yet he had been there, waiting by the king’s command at the tower when York arrived as a prisoner. He had watched as the towers commander made York comfortable in his new ‘accommodations’.

“You’re a clever man John,” Henry had said with an arm wrapped around him later that night. “I do not want relationships to turn more sour than they have to.” As if this hadn’t done it? “You alone are to correspond between myself and York. You alone are to visit York. Do I make myself clear?”

“Why me?”

“You’re his cousin, he should trust you.” Worcester nodded, he barely knew the man however and was about to protest. “Besides in all of this you are neutral.” 

In all of this? He wished he was not involved.


	6. Chapter 6

_14th April 1452_

Words spread quickly, rumours spread faster.

He had kept his word to the King. He had been the only people, other than guards and gaolers to speak with York. The only man of significance to visit the Duke in his captivity. He made the most of it, that John could give him credit for. The Duke did not show his frustration, he showed nothing but a brave front.

John had, however, seen past it. Had seen the worry in his eyes. Not the worry for himself, but for his sons. John had overheard the man praying in the chapel just days ago. Days before this event happened. Days before the news came.   
  
Edward of March was raising an army in the Marches. A nine-year-old boy, demanding that his father be released else hell would be unleashed in London.   
  
Whether this was true or not it could not be said. Yet rumours were among the people, and the Londoners were terrified.   
  
In the court, all knew a child could not muster such numbers without support, not and control them. Cecily Neville, Duchess of York had therefore been the name on the tip of everyone’s tongue. Yet as a woman, she would not be brought to trial for this.

Henry however had needed to decide what to do. Could he take the risk that York’s brat could march on London and seize his father from the Tower by force, most likely ensuring that in his place the Duke of Somerset and any other ‘false’ advisor be locked in there in York’s place?

That was what everyone wanted to know the answer to.   
  
It soon came. John was summoned at midnight to the King’s bedchamber. Henry was sat surrounded by his closest advisors, rosery in hand as though the beads would have God speak to him and make a decision. The man was twitching, John noticed without a second thought. Was he coming down with a fever?

“Your grace summoned me.”  
  
“John, John, I have made a decision John.”   
  
“Yes your grace?”

“I am going to make your Lord Treasurer for your loyalty to me, for your advice, your knowledge.” Tiptoft stood a moment, mouth slightly open. He was to be made treasurer? Inside his stomach flipped. That was why the King had called him here at such a time? To bestow upon him one of the highest roles in the land – one of the roles with the most responsibility. “I also have made a decision. On the matter with York and his son Edward.”

“Your grace?”  
  
“Relay a message to my cousin, please John. He is to be released from the Tower and will henceforth remain at his castle in Ludlow where he is to remain unless he holds my express permission to go elsewhere. We cannot take the risk that the Earl of March has such armies, my people are terrified and rightly so. If a child can gather and control an army, then King’s can fall and order can be disbanded. There would be rioting and it is not as though we have not seen enough of that already.”

What with Cade and all…

Cade who now more than ever was being connected with York almost two years after the rebellion started.

***

_12th October 1452  
Ludlow, Shropshire_

Much had happened since his appointment as treasurer.

John had seen rebellions in May and had agreed to join the commission in June to send messages of authority to his cousin of York.

Henry had made it clear, he wanted York put down once and for all. He wanted full rule and he wanted the fighting to stop – with Somerset firmly in his favour. John had wanted Somerset off the scene, maybe then the bickering would stop. Yet Margaret still had influence.   
  
Either way, John had joined the commission as it marched to Tiverton in July. By August all he wanted was to return to London and his wife. That wish was granted too soon, too tragically for on the 1st September Elizabeth died in childbirth, and with her his son John has been still born. He had not faltered to ride into London with the royal procession on the 6th September.

Henry however had not rested since, now he wanted to enforce his power in Ludlow. Wanted to stab at the heart of York’s strongholds.

The treasury had been in a worse position than John had imagined. Money had been haemorrhaging from the coffers for too long, overseen by incompetent men and enforced by corrupt advisors. The French war had seen them drained more and now the King had called for more money to be spent to gather ‘as many men as is practicable’ to visit Ludlow. York had retreated there without the King’s say so for his wife to give birth to his latest son and now the King wanted to visit Shropshire in the Duke’s absence.

Worcester of course has advised the King that the money was not there, not for a campaign within his own country. Not for a move which could spark hostility from York; a man who had seemingly forgiven the King for his previous betrayal.

Somerset however had trumped Worcester in the line of authority and backed by the Queen, the Duke held more influence, more power than any man should have.

Power corrupts the mind.

What would it see Somerset do? John could not say he was not worried, for York’s eldest son’s resided at Ludlow castle. With Somerset so eager to destroy York…  
  
No, he would not let himself think like that. Henry would never allow that to happen.   
  
John had been presented with little choice but to grant the money and arrange the journey. A journey which had been long and tiring and now his arse hurt from the saddle and his knees from the trot he had maintained.

“It is a beautiful town.” Henry uttered as he rode gently beside John. “I have always thought so.”   
  
“All the more beautiful without the man who poisons the atmosphere.” Somerset grinned as John looked back at him.

“Indeed.” Tiptoft whispered without conviction.

The castle gates were flung open for them, all preparations for a royal visit had been made. Whatever the circumstances of the visit, everyone had turned out. Though their journey through the market town had seen less enthusiasm for the King than London or Coventry, there had been cheers for Henry.

John brought his horse to a stop in front of the host of Ludlow’s greeting party. “Your grace, my lords.” The man helped the king to dismount as John jumped down from his own mount. “My name is Sir Robert Croft of Croft Castle Herefordshire.”  
  
“I expect to be greeted by the lord of the castle.” Henry spoke in a voice so haughty John barely recognised him. “Not a tutor.”   
  
“O..Of course your grace.” Croft put an arm forward to a child. The boy had hair of the cleanest blonde, the clearest blue eyes. His nose was perfectly straight and his cheeks rosey in the October chill.

“Your grace.” He offered a bow, doffing his cap. “We have been expecting you.”   
  
“Edward is it?” Somerset approached, receiving from the boy nothing but a glare as he ruffled the child’s hair. “Bonnie little lad aren’t you?”

“And you are sir?” John smirked. He could not tell in truth if March did not know, could not tell if he truly was without clue as to who the man before him was or if he paid subtle insult.

“Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset.”  
  
“Charmed.” The child’s voice was monotone as he turned to his brother. “This Edmund, my younger brother, the Earl of Rutland your grace.”  
  
“Pleased to meet you.” Edmund stuttered with a slight lisp. 

**

It was dusk, the sound of children playing filled the air. Edmund, the younger one, was straddling his brother who lay on the ground, hands on his brother’s arms and ready to wrestle him back to the floor. “I win.” Edmund offered.   
  
“Never.” The older boy was more boisterous, more entitled for sure. John noted that with a small smile. They looked nothing like their father, except the eyes. York had brown eyes like Edmund.

“Aren’t they horrible?” Somerset made him jump.   
  
“They’re children.” John shrugged, wondering what his own son would have been like had he lived. “I see nothing wrong with them.”  
  
“They’re his children, and like father like son they’ll grow to be traitors.” Somerset sighed. “Did you hear the way he spoke to me? Edward-“  
  
“He’s ten, Edmund. He will speak to everyone that way.”  
  
“Yet not to the King when we ate.”  
  
“Henry is the King, Edward is a child, not a simpleton.” Worcester looked up as he heard a child whine, Edward was on his feet whilst Edmund’s cap was on the floor from a clear blow to the back of the younger boys head. Whatever game they had been playing had just grown violent.

He could not help but think, how long would it be before the adults with power became violent?

He could sense it, York would not forgive this invasion of his privacy any time soon.   
  
That was if he forgave it at all.


	7. Chapter 7

_The Palace of Westminster_  
London  
July 1453

John sat in the outer chamber of the King’s apartments, he said nothing. He and several others, York included, sat in silence. Something was wrong, something was so very wrong and John had known it several days ago. The King’s behaviour had changed so rapidly and now he had taken to his bed saying nothing, eating nothing and rocking his body back and forth. John had seen it through the door as it opened and closed with physicians who each came out looking more worried than the one before them.  
  
Now those physicians gathered at the edge of the room, whispering amongst themselves as though none could understand them.

The King had gone mad, and it was a fucking disaster. How could they have a mad King? It had been bad enough when Henry had been merely incompetent, objectionably weak. Only a hand full of times had John seem Henry exert authority, otherwise he had let the lords of England run wild, perhaps in fear they would once again rise up against him – as they had with his predecessors if he did not allow them whatever liberties they dictated to him.

Of course, it had not served him well, being weak. For quite the opposite reasons to King John or Richard II, the lords of England had taken objection to the King’s advisors – the man whom he let rule the country for him even in his sanity. Somerset.

York had still not simmered down fully over their ‘invasion’ of Ludlow. Of their uninvited trip to Ludlow Castle, of their impromptu visit to see the then ten-year-old Earl of March – the boy who had decided to raise an army for his father’s freedom.

What made the situation worse was that the Queen was with child. A mad king, feuding lords and a queen heavy with babe. What would happen if he remained unable to rule? Would England remain with a king insane from a mystery illness, or would they allow a child to rule once again?

A child rule with the same conflicts, the same problems and of he was as weak as his father could be?

**

_3rd April 1454_

_London _

  
The babe was born in October without complications. What was more, he was a boy named Edward. Margaret had seen that no expenses were spared and with Worcester no longer treasurer, the purse strings were looser.

Not that any of that mattered for John had watched as the chaos had begun to ensue, that the country was being torn apart. Worse than the rift between Somerset and York – a satiation which had improved little with their distance from one another. The Council refused to meet and all because of the problems brewing between too many people. The Neville’s were one great family of the north, the Percy’s another and their long running feud was only getting worse. Amplified by the behaviour of John Neville – a young man Tiptoft’s own niece was infatuated by – who taunted his Percy neighbours.

Now, aside from Somerset’s feud with York, Beaufort relationships with the Neville’s declined. Amongst them there was fighting for Warwick was to inherit lands from his Beauchamp marriage – offered to him by the death of John’s step daughter soon before Cecily had died. Those lands had supposed to be firmly in the hands of the Beaufort’s.

Finally, the relationship between York and his son in law declined. Henry Holland was causing more problems than he was ever worth and John too had to admit that. Anne, Duchess of Exeter was York’s oldest child and a beautiful young woman John recalled from the first time he had met her. Always polite, always smiling, unless her husband was around. Holland caused problems for her. Constricting her finances, and taking no qualms with knocking her down with his words. John had seen it himself, had seen the poor lass cry when she had thought she was alone, had offered her comfort as she cried into his shoulder when she knew she was not.

York had become less tolerant of the swine of Exeter and all had seen that in one huge blow out one day when York had openly shouted at the Young Duke, only to receive a sharp slap in return.

None had hesitated to break it up, though John had been himself away from court, the news had spread to him quickly.

The whole thing was one big fucking mess.

Things had become worse, visibly worse. York had been made protector of the Kings person and held rule over England on the King’s behalf. It was that or allow the Queen to become protector on his behalf. That would not have been allowed, that would never have been allowed. Now Somerset was in the Tower at York’s command.

These were, he could safely say, the most uncertain times he had known. Indeed, they were likely the most uncertain times his father before him had known. Whilst England had seem infighting amongst her nobility, but never had there been a weaker situation in her monarchy. Form the heir to a mad king was no other than a baby.

Yes, York was the best chance they had for managing this situation. Whilst Margaret was Queen, was the logical choice, the country was not ready to be governed by a woman – a French woman. No, she would have been laughing stock or a tyrant. That was worse than a king gone mad. Yet York was unpredictable. Who could guess who would be thrown in the Tower next?

What was worse, the Neville’s had begun to swoon around York. Salisbury had been made chancellor and whilst he was good at it, the power boost was not what he needed and what was worse, it brought a fracture nobility into factions. It was no longer shattered, it was divided, and that was significantly more dangerous. That spelled the potential for war. Countries had seen civil war before, England herself had been victim of it. Yes, it could spell war and those who were in the middle were the ones whom would suffer.

Be forced to choose a side, be corrupted by conflict which John himself could not stand. Yet people who were innocent, people without investments would have to pick a side, and they’d have to pick the right side. Fortunes could change so easily with war.

Fortunes could change so very easily…


	8. Chapter 8

_London_

_18th July 1454_

Time had passed under York’s rule and so far, John did not personally have cause for complaint. His cousin had treated him well and bestowed upon him a multitude of responsibilities and privileges for he, along with only two other men aside from his Neville kin were not too old, too infirm, too sick, too conflicted or simply could not be arsed to attend council.

To use more simple terms than those which York had ranted on with, they were the only ones dedicated to their job and the job in hand; ruling the country efficiently. They were the only ones who did not hold animosity toward the Duke for his taking of the role as Lord Protector nor for his choice to incarcerate the increasingly troublesome Duke of Somerset in the Tower.

This was politics and whatever Tiptoft’s own thoughts, he was neither powerful nor important enough to change it. What must be done must be done to keep those at the top safe. If York felt unsafe with Somerset at liberty, then he now had then power to change that – and indeed he had done it long term.

Indeed, York had favoured Worcester so much that Tiptoft’s own opinion of the Duke had changed enough to skew favour ever so slightly away from Somerset. Though his loyalty to the King and his welfare to the King in this time of great vulnerability was very much unchanged.

Since the day Henry had lost his wits many doctors had been involved to try and aid the King’s recovery without an ounce of success. Even the physician brought at secretly night from the Bethlam Royal Hospital had no cures or remedies he could offer. York therefore did his best in a situation most challenging. For did not all want to see Henry restored to health before this all came to bloodshed?

Factions were growing stronger and rifts further apart. Aside from Somerset’s own understandable anger at his imprisonment, Exeter was causing more problems alongside the Percy’s. This brought anger not only to York but the Neville’s – the Neville’s whom were now almost inseparable from the Lord Protector.

Exeter’s treatment of his wife Anne had only grown worse and more obvious. He never had cause to lay hand on her, never had the motivation to either. He was all but settled to offer her limited allowances and restrict her freedoms. She never now attended court, wrote to few people (one of whom was John). York had been outraged when word had come from Anne that Exeter was trying to make Anne support his riots.

John had been irked himself. To bring a woman into the midst of such dangers, that was truly unacceptable.

In June, York’s temper had finally blown and his attempts to bring his son in law from the north to face reprimand for his riotous behaviour. When he had not responded, moreover he had not desisted in his anarchy, York had been the one to personally ride north and bring him to London. Before the council he had apologised for the disorder, had sworn loyalty to the king with a promise which no one believed; that in order to keep the King’s peace, he would end his stirring up of the north.

Today however the council gathered for other causes. Somerset remained in the Tower and law according to the Magna Carta dictated he should undergo fair trial by his peers. This had caused some unrest amongst the nobility and now the star chamber was filled with more people than John had seen there for many months. Yet still not every noble was present. Beside him now sat the Bishop of Ely. “This will be interesting.” The clergyman spoke. “I hear Richard has some tactics here and I do not think Somerset will be released this day.”

The doors opened as more men came in, half filling the chamber. Many notable faces were still absent, so reluctant to be involved in York’s rule that they would not show themselves before the council in fear of the consequences – regardless what this spelled for the fate of their friend. Could not York have Somerset executed?

John did not even want to think that.

York entered the chamber accompanied by a boy John only just recognised. Edward of March had gained a foot since last he saw him and brushed across his top lip was a whisper of blond hair, though his hair was now auburn tint. “He brought his son?”

“I told you he had some tactics.” Ely grinned.

This was not merely one more vote York had to sway the countries nobility toward condemning his own enemy. No, York wanted to make a simple point. This was his son and heir, a healthy boy and what was more, there were three more should, God forbid, aught happen to the child.

“Shall we begin?” York offered as he pushed Edward into a seat. “We all know why we are here, and I am aghast to see such attendance, though perhaps not surprised. Some of you support my lord of Somerset and some of you are appalled to see him in the Tower. I am not naïve, many of you despise my actions and hate me for them. Yet some of you understand my position, some of you have sat beside me to sign warrants of execution and punishment To bring this country back under control from the hatred and chaos my lord was spreading.” York looked directly to John as he spoke those words. Indeed, John had been the man to write and sign those warrants, John had been the one to condemn them, and he had prayed for his soul many times since.

York continued. “I wish now to not take up more of the day than anyone does desire. So I shall be short in saying my piece.”

“From what I hear.” Ely whispered. “He has taken up more time in saying his introductions than he will on saying his own piece. Men have come to vote but they will not get to. There’s nothing to be voted on.”

Worcester turned his head at that before York went on.

“We shall not vote today on Edmund’s fate. Under the law of the Magna Carta he is to be tried by his peers and judges. There are not the men here to make such a decision and with many of our Dukes absent,” Buckingham, Exeter, Norfolk and more besides, “We have few who hold enough rank to reliably make such a decision. Therefore Somerset shall remain in his location without further punishment but without his freedom.”


	9. Chapter 9

_15th April 1455_

In December, the King had regained his sanity and been told he had a son. Yet it was not until February 1455 that York surrendered his Protectorship and all knew why. Somerset was released minutes after York’s resignation, and from then, the slippery slop became a cliff face they would all be forced to jump from. Jump, blindly, into a decision.

Yet what was his? His loyalties could not be divided. He knew that. He had never liked divided loyalties, but now the political situation meant he had no choice but to choose. Choose quickly.

Somerset had wanted blood from the second of his release and it was certain that with Margaret’s influence he would get it. Her interests too lay in disbanding the Duke’s power. Increasingly over the last months of Henry’s illness, John had become distant from the Queen, her ways, her favouritisms irked him more than he dared to admit. In the meantime, holding high office and ruling with York and Salisbury? He had grown closer to these two men. Afterall had they not made decisions of the highest gravity together?

That was in part the reason why the King had sent him forward with a small group of delegates including The Bishop of Coventry and Lichfield and the Prior of the Hospitallers. Men whom the King thought would be most likely to reason with York.   
  
The Duke had, alongside the Neville’s, raised men from their homelands to force the King to submit to one demand; that Somerset be permanently removed from power. John knew the King had no thought of accepting. No desire to submit anything to York. Now that he had regained his wits, the King had sworn not to submit to anyone else’s rule again.   
  
John had scoffed at that when he had left the room. Increasingly Henry was being proven to be a weak King, and a weak man. Worse, his son was only and infant and could not rule, they could not be allowed another child king – especially not one of a father prone to fits of insanity. That was why Worcester now rode toward York’s camp without worry or hesitation. He knew what he would say, knew where when push had come to shove his loyalties lay.

York was a strong leader and a good leader. Now more than ever, that was what England needed. Afterall, even a scholar knew that sometimes a personal plea did not work, sometimes there needed to be bloodshed. That was what the King did not realise.

All he could hope now was that York in all his anger did not choose the shed his blood…

He pushed that thought out of his mind as the camp drew closer. He spurred his horse to canter before he trotted into the camp. “Where is your leader?” He asked to one of the men. The fellow pointed and John dismounted. “Look after him. Gentlemen, wait here.” He spoke to his delegates. “I will speak with York alone. I think we may have most chance of him being reasonable that way.” They nodded, themselves dismounting.

John wasted no time in marching toward York when he saw him. He saw Warwick’s face change, confusion was set upon his features. “John, I did not expect to see you here. You of all people.” Warwick uttered.   
  
“He’s here on royal business, do not be deceived Dick.” York offered. “What does the King have to say?”  
  
“He beseeches you to reconsider your options.” John shrugged. “But I don’t think you should.”  
  
“What?” York spun around to look at him.   
  
“I think that you would be a simpleton to submit and walk to London. They will not welcome you with open arms now, you will be arraigned for treason and executed. You surely know that.”

York nodded, Warwick could not move. Whatever Richard Neville had expected of him, he had not expected this.

“You know I can’t let you leave John.” York put a hand on his shoulder as the Tiptoft tried to turn away. “You know our location, you know our forces, I do not know you will not feed this back and that this is not a trap-“  
  
“I told you as a friend, Richard.”

“And I will treat you well, but you’re not leaving.”

**

_St Albans_

_22nd May 1455_

In truth he had not felt anger or resentment toward the Duke for his captivity. His delegates may not have felt the same. York had indeed treated them well and not a bit of harm had come to them.

The situation had escalated further since York’s capture of the King’s delegation. They had marched upon St Albans without word of complaint. Indeed, John had spent much of the journey conversing with Warwick and Salisbury.

Now however they had departed the camp leaving minimal men behind. John himself now sat with the thirteen year old Earl of March. “It’s not fair.”  
  
“Life isn’t fair.” John shrugged.   
  
“What would you know of it?”

Oh, nothing, John thought with sarcasm.

“I want to be fighting, but papa said I have to stay and watch you. Now I take that responsibility seriously, because I know you may try to escape and join Somerset and Buckingham in all of this, we can’t have that.”

“I have no intention of joining anyone. I am content to sit here and talk to you.”  
  
“What if I don’t want to talk?”   
  
“Then, my lord, I am happy to sit here in silence with you.”  
  
His fellow delegates mumbled, John looked at them and they fell silent. They had surely established that John did not find this situation troubling, that he did not mind this at all. That perhaps he was too comfortable. Yet would they tell the King should he survive this? York and Warwick had ambushed the King’s party, and news would soon reach them on the level of dead – the names of the dead.   


There were only several minutes silence before Edward of March spoke again. “I hope that swine Somerset is caught, no, I hope he dies in battle-“  
  
“That.” The Bishop of Coventry and Lichfield spoke. “Is a terrible thing to say.”  
  
Edward merely shrugged. “He troubles my father, his is an enemy of my father and thus he is my own enemy by extension.”

“You should still repent for saying that boy.” He added.

“Reginald.” John offered. “The boy is only showing loyalty to his father-“  
  
“So are you.” The Bishop scoffed.

Edward looked to John, looked back to the clergyman and shrugged. “He’s a better man than you then.”   
  
“I take no sides in this.” Reginald offered. “It is my job to be impartial, not to judge or condemn one man over another. That is God’s role-“  
  
“Be quiet.” Edward snapped.

“You can’t-“  
  
John frowned, knowing what the boy would say. “I can do as I like. Remember who is in charge here.” The bishop fell silent.

Tiptoft grinned, looking at the lad before him. He would make a leader one day, though maybe not yet. One day that child, with determination in his eyes, would be expected to lead armies for the King, and one day he would be Duke of York. One day, John thought, he might be able to follow his command. One day, not today as his voice shook with the uncertainty of Youth. Edward tried to hide his fears, but it was plain to John. The lad worried about his father, as anyone his age would. For what was he to do should York die today?

John stood, looking out of the tent as the sound of men returning filled their ears. Edward was on his feet. “Wait here.” He pointed at them, leaving the tent. He followed his father as York returned with the King carried in tow. John jumped to his feet, seeing the arrow in the side of the wheezing King’s neck.   
  
“Henry!” John jumped forward, pushed back by Edward. The surgeon hurried behind.   
  
“Away from him, all of you!”

John looked in horror before he looked up at York as Salisbury entered the tent. “Somerset is dead, as is Buckingham, Northumberland and Lord Clifford.”

And with them, John knew his loyalties in the air.   
  
Could he support York now? Could he, when Henry, dying King Henry, had ever been his friend?


	10. Chapter 10

London 

1457

When they had returned from St Albans, Henry had made his recovery and York had been restored to a form of power which few dared to challenge overtly. John had failed to trust the man for some months after that and had been distant too from the Neville’s. 

Many had been displeased with the events of St Albans. John Beaumont for one had been vocal about his anger. York had not failed to shut him down in a confrontation which had grown personal - personal and the men’s children had been dragged into. From that Tiptoft had withdrawn. He would not be involved in any such arguments. 

Yet months passed and Henry had proven himself weaker than Worcester had ever expected. Increasingly caving to the demands of others, negotiating poor contracts that pleased none and angered all, and failing to take the sound advice provided to him. Now, even the advice Tiptoft himself provided was ignored. 

It was the Neville’s then with whom he had grown close. Close by a twist of fate which saw Joan, John’s own sister, widowed. Edmund Ingoldisthorpe died suddenly. Isabel, his eldest daughter, left unmarried needed someone to secure her in an increasingly unstable country. Worcester stepped in to guide his sister. Isabel was ever close to Warwick’s brother John. Several years older than her, he had already begun to prove himself as worthy, wealthy and strong. Moreover, they were fond of one another. 

Tiptoft wasted no time in arranging the marriage with Salisbury and Joan. A marriage which had proven a success for the couple were happy and so far prosperous. Prosperous for them and for Worcester himself. Once again he had Neville kin and Warwick had wasted no time in reestablishing old links with his Tiptoft friends. 

This had brought his allegiances ever closer to York. For after all, now war was on the cards, and the threat to overthrow a king looking increasingly likely as tensions once again began to rise, the Neville’s - and thus John himself - drew closer ranks with York. 

All the same, a scholars world was not one entwined in warfare. John had made the decision to separate himself from such affairs. 

Word that he took imminent leave from the country had spread with speed. He had planned for some time to make pilgrimage to the holy land. A pilgrimage he had taken great pains to make happen before he found himself wound up in the political web which would see him dead. 

His captain sat opposite, a map laid out in front of him. “This route is best, well it is indeed the only route. We will have to go through Syria. Now there is risk attached to that. Under current rule, Christians do not fair well if caught. On the way, there is always the risk of pirates. You understand, John,” Tiptoft had refused to give away his title, had posed himself as a wealthy merchant devout to his religion. Whether the man recognised John was a matter he neither knew nor cared about. The captain had accepted his guise either way, “there is definite risks attached to this.” 

“There’s not a risk I don’t understand. Not a risk I don’t accept.” 

The man nodded. 

“John!” Warwick charged into the tavern. “You sir are a difficult man to find.” 

“I did not want to be found.” 

Warwick looked the captain up and down. “So it’s true. You are leaving the country. Where?”

“A pilgrimage to the Holy Land.” He frowned. “Why are you here? To try and dissuade me?”

“No. I do not think I could.”

“You could not.”

“I wanted to wish you the best, it is a-“

“Treacherous journey? I know. Yet I am prepared to do it anyway.”

“Bring him back alive.”

Warwick left with those words. Whether or not his captain had recognised John, his eyes stated he recognised Warwick and how could he not? Warwick was a seaman. Happier on a boat than on land. Whatever, the situation had changed, and John’s identity he knew would be revealed before long.

He had not wanted people to know. Had wanted to shroud his journey in anonymity, yet it was worth the journey to get away from this political mess.

**

The day had come several days ago and now they were at sea. Out into open waters. The ship was filled with men and women, dedicated pilgrims many with experiences of this journey. He had spoken to each of them since they had set off from

England’s shores a week ago. 

He now sat comfortable, a woman opposite, both cross legged on the floor with a chessboard between them. “You’d be better moving your knight John.” She said, taking his queen. “You either are not good at this or your mind is elsewhere.”

His mind was indeed elsewhere. He could not help but think how she looked so very much like Elizabeth... how her eyes glinted green, her hair shone blonde in the sun and her lips spoke to him. 

He would have to repent for such thoughts later, such thoughts about a woman not his wife. Yet his eyes fixed on every part of her and lust filled him. 

He had been trying to shake it off for the time they had spent together and yet it was impossible. She looked up as the sound of music filled their ears. In the corner sat a man with one lonely fiddle. “Do you dance?”

“What?” She was on her feet. “Come on, dance.”

He stood, every part of himself apprehensive. Yet what else could they do to pass the time? He was losing at the only game she knew how to play. She took his hand, dragging him toward the fiddle player before she took his hand, leading his dance.

He did not know how long had passed dancing with her, sweet Matilda, was not sure of much when the ship rocked so hard she fell. He caught her, pushing her onto a bench as shouts cane from the deck. “Stay there!” He ran to the deck, seeing the captain barking orders to his crew. “What’s happened?” John caught the man’s arm. 

“Pirates my lord. I would not worry yourself. We can outrun them.”

Christ how he hoped they could. 


	11. Chapter 11

Rhodes Castle 

Greece

12th June 1457

Matilda stroked a hand down his cheek as they sat under a tree. She smiled, even as John moved away.

He had escaped to avoid the people he did not want to talk to the most; their hosts. 

“John it cannot have been so bad.” She had avoided the situation which disgusted him more than he cared to admit. That was why he had escaped the castle walls to sit under the warmth of the descending sun. Hoping, praying the feeling would go away before he had to rejoin the pilgrims inside. 

Last night, when there had been much drinking, John had been invited to an execution by his host. Turks had been causing problems for their Greek friends since the fall of Constantinople. 

All the same, that was not his reason for disgust. 

“Not so bad? Matilda, they were impaled on spikes like pigs on a spit.”

“That is their way of doing things out here.” She shrugged. He moved away, settling as her hand touched his shoulder. “John. You cannot judge them on English ways, they are not English-“

“And men are not animals.”

“And do you not think that the Turks do worse?”

He was silent at that. 

“From what I have been told they do much worse, things we cannot even think of and should not even mention. Do you think that if we are caught by Saracens in the holy land we will be granted such a kind fate? If you think so, you can think again. Maybe you should turn back now-“

“Of course I do not think that.”

“Then why should the Greeks be kinder to the Turks than the Turks would be to the Greeks? As it is, in my opinion, they are already better for at least they killed them before they did this, am I correct?” He nodded. “Then you should not be so offended. Besides, you are English in a foreign language, it is not for us to be offended on anyone’s behalf. Not for things we do not face every day. You do not understand the politics of here, however well you understand the politics of England.”

She winked when he looked at her. 

“You-“

“He called you my lord, well, several people have. Then of course I heard that pirates targeted our ships because the Earl of Worcester was said to be onboard. It is not hard to work it out after that.” 

“English politics is quite different.”

“You say that. And yet, they say power corrupts a man. Any man with power is capable of doing brilliant or terrible things.”

“Then I am glad I do not have power.”

“Not whilst you’re not in England.”

“The king has power in England, only he can order such things.”

“And yet the king, a mortal man, can be persuaded. After all? Did not Somerset cause controversy by persuading the King to do many things.”

“One man’s side of a more complex affair, but yes. Look, Matilda, I will not indulge you in court gossip. Understand whilst we are here I am not the Earl of Worcester but rather just John.”

“Well then John.” She leant over, kissed his lips gently. “I prefer it that way.” 


	12. Chapter 12

London England  
December 1461

When they had got back on the ship he had been on his knees before the ships alter for several hours, repenting for all that had happened. It had not been merely a kiss. Curse him for that. He had experienced carnal thoughts. Thoughts which had no place on pilgrimage he had known that. Yet all his repenting, all his knowing it should not happen had not stopped the inevitable. 

He had repented for that too. 

That was why when they left the holy land, returning to the shores of Italy, he had parted company with Matilda. She had returned to England as penniless as she left. He could not marry her, and he would not take her as a mistress. 

He had better things to do than think of women whilst in Italy. Of that he was certain. He had enrolled at the University of Padua. There he studied law and Latin. 

That was until things had changed so dramatically in England. 

He had heard from Italy in 1459 of the sacking of Ludlow, the hell which Margaret and Henry had let loose. The accounts had come from France, directly from Salisbury and Warwick who had with them young Edward of March. Then in 1460 open warfare began in its proper sense. Salisbury sieged the Tower of London and wild fire was the result. Hundreds of Londoners murdered by men inside the tower, for what? 

Whilst Salisbury lay siege, Warwick and March found themselves responsible for the deaths of several great lords - lords not involved in St Albans. Lords whom died fighting for their king. A king all three earls declared their loyalty for until York made his entrance from Ireland. An entrance which saw him declare himself king. 

John had wondered about the response to that, for surely England did not accept it? He had wondered until the early days on 1461, for in late January a letter arrived from Warwick who had found the time to pen the words. 

York and Salisbury were dead. 

Now, Edward of March had declared himself king and won a victory in Towton. Now said Edward, King of England, had summoned John back. Of course he could have refused and waited for Warwick to emerge to escort him but in truth he was curious. 

Things were different when he entered Westminster palace. The feel was different, though the building had changed little. Mad king Henry’s banners had been removed, torn down and burnt he had been told, Yorkist roses hung high. Edward of York was displaying power, he made one simple statement; he was in charge. 

John smiled at the thought. When he had sat with Edward at St Albans the night following the battle, the boy had shown personality, charisma and he had shown the potential for a leadership which Henry and even his own father lacked. Strong leadership, ruthless leadership. 

“I can reunite a country.” John heard the voice and the boots tapping on the tiles as the men walked toward him. He froze. “But it won’t be easy, it won’t be pretty and it will be bloody.” The voice was Edward’s. Though the lad’s voice had broken, John recognised the tones. Recognised too the voice of Warwick. 

“We should be fair. You have already ordered the first executions of the father of a taverns landlord, for jesting that his son had The Crown - and he spoke of the inn.”

“And I must make sure that the country understand that I am their king and my rules apply.”

“But you should be fair Edward-“ Warwick stooped as he walked around the corner. 

“Surprised to see me?” John spoke, grinning and Dick brought him into a tight embrace. 

“John, you’re tanned.”

“Italy is hot.” John shrugged.

“How was the holy land?”

“Everything you’d expect and more-“

“Touching though this reunion is do you mind?” Edward offered. “My lord of Worcester I called you back here to see where your loyalties sit.”

In Italy, with Lancaster or with York?

Edward had grown by over a foot since last he saw the lad. He could be no shorter than 6 foot 4. A giant of a man with the muscles of those depicted on the Greek pottery John had observed in Rhodes. 

“My loyalties lay with you.”

“Good, then you can prove it.” The man stood beside Edward shifted from foot to foot. “Will, this is John Tiptoft, Earl of Worcester and a scholar to the inner most core. John this is William Hastings, my chamberlain. Make sure would you Will that you escort John to the Tower and await instruction there Will.”

With those words, John thought he felt his heart stop.


	13. Chapter 13

_The Tower of London_

_December 1461_

“The King plans to move himself into the Tower amongst threats from those who are not loyal to him.” That, John thought, given all that had happened, given the landslide victory at Towton, would be many. “He wants to move the entire household but the problem is, he is without a constable of the Tower. He thinks you would fit that bill.”

“Me?” John offered with am arched eyebrow. Was this new king as insane as the last? They had met minimal times and each one it could have been forgiven if the boy thought John in full loyalty to Henry.

Hastings shrugged. “It ain’t up to me, I think exactly what is written on your face – you should prove your loyalty first. Ned makes the decisions, however foolish some of them may be. It does trouble me that you think the same about proving your own loyalty before such an appointment, after all, you could use this power against him.” There was only a hint of bitterness, as though Hastings himself would have possessed this title. But then who was Hastings? John had never heard his name uttered until this day. “He will doubtless take that risk though.”

“My thoughts were not about my loyalties, my lord, for I know exactly where they lay.” He sighed. “No, I am just curious as to whether there is a man who has earnt this position more than I? After all, I have been out of England for several years. I am out of practice with official offices.”

“I will express this to his grace, but I can tell you what he will say.” The Tower loomed above them as they passed tower hill. The building was opposing even to think of entering it as a free man. “He will say that most of the Lords of High office are dead or would most certainly betray him fatally, else are already traitors. Norfolk refused the position, Warwick is too busy, I am lord chamberlain, the Earl of Desmond is in Ireland, John Neville is not responsible enough and holds little experience, George Neville is. In the church, essentially, when the king heard of your return, he thought you had both the knowledge and the experience to warrant such a role.”

This was a test, that’s exactly what this was. The king trusted him no further than he could throw him and John had seen it in his eyes.

It was however only days before the king himself arrived to confirm the Earl’s position. He was Constable of the Tower and thus he and William Hastings were in charge of running the household and more? They would be part of the regime change which Edward had drawn out on his mind, whatever that meant. He had made it clear to those in his inner most circle and the news had slowly got to John.

He would be a respected king, a fair king but if needs be? He would be a feared king. They would exert rule at any cost. A strategy John approved of, for at ‘East this auburn haired giant foam youth was showing more authority in mere months than Henry had shown in many years. Yet unlike with Henry, John was not in the innermost circle, he did not have the Kings ear and that, John knew, had to change. It had to change quickly.

**

In late December, John was made a Knight of the Garter along with twelve other men. He had been surprised to say the least but the young King had, in several times of need, turned to Worcester for guidance – drawing on the experience of both he and Warwick on many occasions. Warwick for military matters and John for political. With the old nobility gone, they were the most qualified, most experienced men at governing a country and that Worcester knew was the real reason he had been returned from Italy.

Yet it had served him well thus far.

In February 1462 Edward held a meeting in the Tower. John had made sure his attendance was guaranteed. The young King wanted to discuss the problems amassing away from the safety of the Tower walls. The time had come the King said to stop avoiding these conflicts and face them head on, for those meddlesome lords shall be allowed to meddle no more.   
  
Henry Beaufort, Duke of Somerset since his father’s death in 1455, had been causing problems since his escape in March 1461 following Towton. Similarly, Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland, was being a pain in Edward’s arse. John Neville had been the one assigned to stop them, and Worcester knew his Neville kinsman would be all too happy to put an end to the Percy line, not merely Northumberland himself. Afterall, Isabel still spoke to her uncle and wrote regularly to update of life; it was she after all who had kept him so updated with tense developments in England whilst John himself had been in Italy.   
  
“Edward.” John followed the King from the chamber. Edward beckoned her follow, walking an easy stride which Worcester had to run to keep up with. “You wanted to see me.”   
  
“Yes.” Was all he said for a moment before he stopped below the steps which led to the palace. “I did. My father always said you served well on the court of oyer and terminer and well, I had a thought, a vacancy is open if you would take it. You are wasted as mere constable of the Tower, though I would have you stay thus.”  
  
“What vacancy?”  
  
“Lord High Constable of England.”  
  
“What?”

Edward sighed. “I want you and my cousin Dick to work together to bring the men who are traitors to justice. I want you both to try them as peers whilst John Neville brings them to us, except those who resist. Those who resist he very well has my permission to bring me their heads.”

This, Worcester already knew would be a tougher reign, a harsher one.

Not that this was such a bad thing.


	14. Chapter 14

November 1462

Northumberland, England.

He was no soldier, had expressed this to Ned before they left London. Warwick had said it did not matter, that he was an experienced member of the King’s council, a trusted advisor and indeed a friend. Worcester had smiled at that before he truly recognised the mammoth task ahead. 

Henry’s wife Margaret had landed in Scotland, spurring on Lancastrian rebels hiding in the northern castles. Edward had, rightly, decided he would put them down before full scale rebellion was stirred up. He could not afford a rebellion of any type so early in his reign. That was why every man who could fight or negotiate had been taken north, leaving Clarence and Gloucester (the King’s young brothers) alone at Westminster. Alone and probably causing chaos for their minders. John had rarely seen two lads as boisterous, even if Richard complained of pain much of the time. That did not stop his play. 

John had got to know those boys and they him. Clarence was a golden haired child, Richard was darker, Clarence was pompous and Richard humble. Whilst both had been elevated to offices of responsibility, whilst both had been involved in the organisation of this northern campaign, neither were old enough or strong enough to fight beside the Neville brothers; John and Dick. 

“Don’t look so glum.” Warwick shoved him so hard he stumbled, nearly falling from his horse until he was caught by Warwick’s hand as the earl laughed. “I didn’t mean to push you that hard. I just want to say, the situation isn’t all bad.”

“I am anxious for the King.” Edward had been stopped at Fotheringhay by a bout of measles which had hit him badly, almost crippling the young king temporarily. William Hastings has been elected as the man to stay with the King and ensure his welfare with physicians and remedies which John knew helped little. After all, he had been struck with measles whilst studying at Oxford and his father had nearly brought him straight back to Cambridgeshire for similar treatment. It was only monks and prayers that got him through, John was sure about that. That was why he prayed for Edward at numerous points of the day. 

The wind blew cold on them. “John, he will be fine. He is in expert hands with Hobbes. He has experience and exemplary training. You just need to focus on working with my brother to make sure these traitors are brought to bed. Let Will worry about making sure the King survives. I don’t doubt he will. I’ve known Ned since the lad was born, and he has survived worse than this. Though I’ll say, it’s a bloody inconvenience.” 

John sighed, looking forward to the other Neville on this campaign. “Is he up to this?”

“My brother? He has a track history of being captured, so I worry about that but when he manages to fight? He does a damned good job.”

** 

And the job he did on Christmas Eve the castle they sieged surrendered. Many men became prisoners, yet on his knees Henry Beaufort had begged to see the King. Begged to see Edward and now. 

The reality had hit the young Duke when he had been informed that Edward had left the two John’s in charge with Warwick elsewhere. It had not stopped Beaufort insisting on seeing Edward as soon as they could make it possible. 

They had wasted no time in returning to Fotheringhay. Edward, Worcester was pleased to see, was recovering well. He sat cross legged in braes and shirt playing chess with Hastings when Tiptoft entered as silent as could be possible. All the same, without looking Ned spoke. “John, I assume it is done?”

“Yes Edward. Surrendered on Christmas Eve as discussed in my letters.” 

“Good. You wanted to add something?”

“Somerset begs to see you.”

“Beaufort? Why?”

“To plead for his life no doubt.” Hastings spat. “The king won’t be troubled by-“

“Don’t think to speak for me Will. Don’t ever think to speak for me.” Edwards voice was a bark. “I’ll see him.”

John nodded, dared not to ask if he was sure. Instead he opened the door. “Johnny! Bring him in.”

Beaufort stumbled as John Neville half dragged the man into the room. 

“Henry.” Edward looked at him. Watching as the man bowed as humbly as he could force himself to. As humbly as any man whose father had been slain by the other man’s father could. John smirked, watching as Edward did not offer permission to rise from the back aching bow for over two minutes. “How is it I can help you?”

The Duke was silent, drop white a moment. Whatever it is he wanted to say, wanted to do, he could not. John watched in amusement. Beaufort had ever been a person John could not stand. Not unlike his father, he was arrogant and more self entitled than a Duke should be allowed to be. Under Henry, it had been accepted that the Beaufort’s would think themselves kings. Edward would have none of that, and for all his words, young Somerset could not accept that.

“As it seems you’re tongue has been removed let me say what I want to say shall I? Your father was my father’s enemy, we have been brought up to hate one another but it does not have to be that way. I am tired of the divide in this country, and I am sure you are too. I’m sure also you are wondering what I’ll do with you now I have you here before me. Be glad you asked to see me man.” Henry looked on with shock in his eyes. Neville frowned, stepping forward. 

“Edward.” The name rolled gently off his tongue. “Think about this lad.” 

“Silence!” Somerset hissed, almost getting a slap from John Neville, stopped only by Tiptoft’s hand. 

“No you don’t. It won’t help.” John saw it in Edward’s expression. He had no intention of sending this man to the Tower or to his death. 

“Let us put that past behind us. Let us forgive one another our trespasses and I shall overlook your treason-“

“What?” Somerset whispered. Tiptoft half expected the duke to refuse. “You want to forgive me?” He stuttered. 

“Yes. This country has been torn apart too long. We can fix that.”

“Thank you your grace.” Beaufort uttered, approaching the king on suddenly unsteady feet. “You won’t regret this.”

Beside him John Neville frowned before he stormed out. 

***

“Johnny, this will do you no favours.” John Neville kicked the wall swearing. He had already thrown pewter and broken glass. Tiptoft had followed the younger man to this room when he had stormed out, unable himself to watch. 

“Everything we have done and he’s showing forgiveness for him all people! He’s as insane as Henry is, especially if he thinks that swine won’t betray him and us all.”

“It’s probably a test-“

“And what do you know of him? Hmm? You’ve known him for two minutes and I’ve known him all his life. Believe me, it’s no test.”

“Johnny-“

“No! Don’t you try to justify this.”

Tiptoft surprised himself as he gripped John Neville by the collar. “Listen to me, John, I’m not justifying anything, I’m explaining it to you because you’re not listening. Edward may have a plan or he may not. That is not our concern. He is king-“

“And a fucking idiot.” Neville spat, pushing Worcester off him. “And grab me like that again, and my wife will be attending your funeral.”

“Maybe he grabbed you like that because you’re a defiant little shit.” Warwick had not made his presence known, had entered without a sound. “John what happened?”

Neville began to talk, stopped as his brother held up a hand for silence before he pointed to Tiptoft. “That John. William Hastings directed me in here. He was very hushed about something and he looked ill at ease. What has happened?”

“Your brother was just angry about a situation caused by the King.”

Warwick rolled his eyes. “What have they both done-“

“He’s made a fucking peace pact with Henry fucking Beaufort.” Neville spat, kicking the wall again with a whimper as Warwick held up a hand for more silence. 

“That was foolish Johnny. Sit down before you seriously hurt yourself.” Warwick offered, looking to Tiptoft. “Is this true?”

Worcester only nodded before uttering. “I tried to explain this was above us now.”

“Quite right, it is much above the both of you.” Warwick turned on his heels, about to be followed by his brother when Tiptoft pushed the lad back into his chair. 

“No.” 


	15. Chapter 15

_Reading  
September 1464_

Warwick had been furious at Edward for his forgiveness of Somerset. Had been furious, but quiet about it His gentle advice had tried, and failed, to persuade Ned to reconsider his options. Worcester had subsequently removed himself from court as frequently as possible whilst Somerset was present He could not cope with petty bickering which occurred between Warwick, John Neville and the Duke of Somerset. Edward had grown closer to the Duke, regarding him as his closest friend until things turned sour only months later.

They had been riding through Northampton when an arrow had flown through the sky, impaling itself in the side of the building and missing Somerset. Edward had taken steps to protect the Duke by sending him to Ludlow under Worcester’s guard. Nothing Tiptoft could have done would have stopped the Duke escaping – escaping and joining his Lancastrian friends; Lords Roos, John’s brother in law, and Lord Hungerford.

Edward had, at first, shown anger toward Tiptoft for Beaufort’s escape and suspicions then toward John and his sister Philippa. Edward had referred to _‘too many coincidences’_, including John’s failure in 1462 to prevent Queen Margaret from reaching France with her son. Ned had known John’s inexperience in campaigns, especially those at sea, and yet he had been sent in Warwick’s place and failed.

All the same, this move had spelled the end for Somerset. In May of 1464 John Neville had been dispatched with an army which had one sole purpose; retrieving Somerset’s head and with it anyone who resisted. A move which also saw John Neville made Earl of Northumberland. All three Lancastrian men lost their heads at Neville’s command leaving John’s sister Philippa a widow. Ned had been tempted to strip her of everything, to make an example owing only to his foul mood for the betrayal of Somerset. Tiptoft himself had practically begged for that not to be so and Philippa’s lands had been secure.

John however had made mistakes in England. When last year Ned had ordered he try several men suspected of treasonous actions, John had tried them under civil law – law attributed to the continent not England. The commons had been furious, yet all the same, it had not stopped Worcester’s authority or his hand.

Ned had approved of his tactics and they had subsequently made journeys together and in April 1464 when in Northamptonshire, John had become aware of Ned’s interests being peaked and his attention elsewhere. John had turned a blind eye to the King’s love for women, his lusting over them. Yet he could not ignore that one woman had caught his attention. He had not expected what would happen though. In May, Ned’s attention became more firmly fixed on the governing of his country and his determination had returned.

None had expected what would happen this day however. Ned had called every lord in England into a cramped hall in Reading. All had known the purpose, to announce his upcoming marriage to Bona of Savoy, a French princess, which would finally bring peace between England and France – that was the marriage which Warwick had himself negotiated with the French King. All had been prepared for that but that was not what happened. Edward had instead told them all that he was married to the widow Elizabeth Grey _nee_ Woodville.

Warwick had, for the first time John had ever seen, been speechless. All knew he would confront the King for making a fool of him, would confront him for making an ill matched marriage in the first place. Cecily Neville, the King’s mother, had wasted no time in ordering her son to see her in Reading and she had been more than angry and more vocal than her nephew. Edward of course had shown little in the way of remorse and had not so much as asked for his mother’s forgiveness – a forgiveness he probably knew she would not grant.

Edward had left his conversation with her an angry man. John and Will Hastings had been the two he sought the council of.

“She told me she could and would put George on the throne in my place! As though she has that power, as though he has a single fucking claim to the throne.”  
  
“Technically,” John uttered, “he does. He is heir to the throne, but she could not replace you with him.”  
  
“Thank you!” Edward flew his hands up in the air. Will was silent, his skin so white John thought he may be sick. Whatever Will had expected from today he had not expected that. “Will, you look like shit. What is wrong with you?”  
  
“You married her?”  
  
“You haven’t caught up with this yet? Of course I have! I married her on May day-“  
  
Of course…

That was why he had been more focused that May, He had succeeded in his interest and his attentions had been recognised. John could not help but think how all this had come about. How he got to the point of marrying her? Ned had a habit of corrupting women into bed, why had he married this one? Had she resisted? Had he realised he had no choice now but to announce it? Why had he kept it so quiet for so long? To humiliate his cousin who grew more powerful every day?

**

“You do not understand John.” Warwick shouted as he paced back and forth, hammering one fist into the palm of his hand as he spoke. “I have done everything for that boy. I have basically wiped his arse since we were in Calais together if not before! I cannot believe he had done this. Christ I knew he was a fool, I knew he was a philanderer and I know just knew that he would fuck things up occasionally, but like this? Fuck! I’d not expected him to be so fucking moronic!”

“He’s young-“  
  
“He’s king, John, and he’s married a common widow. A Lancastrian whore.”

Tiptoft was silent a moment. “Dick, I like this no more than you do but then he has done it and it cannot be undone.”  
  
“There are rumours you knew, but you would have told me.”  
  
“No man knew except Edward, I swear Dick, if I had known I would not have let you barter a marriage and insult the French as we have now.”  
  
“You are a good man John.”

“No, I just do my duty to the King and to my country. That is why I am the only person who is neither screaming about the King or celebrating this damned situation.”  
  
**  
  
What was there to celebrate? John had seen increasingly these last few weeks before the new Queen reached London that there was discontent among the nobility of England and its commons In London the news had already spread that the King had married and whom. It was quite against convention and the people hated that.

George of Clarence had been silently angry, John had seen the anger building in the child. Had spoken to him several days before the Queen was due to arrive. The young Duke had been sat on the steps leading to the Palace at Westminster when John had sat beside him.  
  
“It’s not all bad you know. Your brother seems to be happy-“  
  
“I’m not happy, I am not happy at all.”  
  
“No, nor are many people.”  
  
“And you? Are you happy?”  
  
“About the marriage? No. I do not question it though-“  
  
“Maybe you should.” George had snapped. “I don’t like it and I don’t like him.”  
  
“Careful George.” Tiptoft warned.

“She is lower born than both of us. Can't you see that? She's lower born than me a prince and even than you as an Earl.” George was on his feet and off in a second.

Tiptoft had bit his lip, waited a moment whilst George retreated and walked away. .

He had been more focused on preparing for the Queen’s arrival. An arrival which turned out to be three hours early.  
  
He and Hastings had hurried down to meet her for the King himself was unprepared. She had already stepped out of the carriage when they arrived. “Your grace.” Hastings and Tiptoft spoke in unison as the doffed their caps, bowing before her.  
  
“Tell me, where is my husband?” Her tone was haughty, she looked down on them as though they were nothing to her. Mere servants. John bit his lip, replacing his cap on his head. Hastings looked at him and it was clear he was not going to speak. “Well?” She snapped.  
  
“He is otherwise engaged with council affairs, your grace.”

“And he sent _you two_ to greet me? How wonderful.” The sarcasm rolled with her words.  
  
“May I show you to your rooms your grace?”  
  
“My rooms? Most certainly not. I will have my brothers and sisters, my mother and father, those close to me,” _those that mean something, John though, _“show me to my rooms. My mother knows where they are.”  
  
“Oh you will not be in the Queen’s rooms.” Hastings finally spoke, with a small smirk. “No, you shall let me show you the way for the King’s mother stays in the Queen’s apartments.”  
  
“The King’s mother?” Elizabeth Woodville almost choked. “She is not the queen.”  
  
No. John thought, and he saw the same in Will’s eyes. But she would make a better Queen indeed.


	16. Chapter 16

_London_ _  
26th May 1465_

_Fuck._

John could not help but pace up and down the room Ned had allocated as his office. Shit. Warwick had not simmered down as Edward had said he would, as John had known he wouldn’t. Yet John’s predictions had not gone as far as to see Warwick truly livid about this situation and what was worse? The Woodville’s did not know when to keep their mouths shut. Each one was as self-entitled as the next. John had never been one to truly believe that nobility stood on lineage alone, achievement had something to do with it. Yet the Woodville’s had, technically, achieved nothing except a beautiful woman who caught the King’s cock in a trap and that was Ned being foolish. Yes, when Elizabeth had refused his advances, he had married her to bed her and now that could not be undone. Yet none could deny that Elizabeth held some worthy blood within her, for Ned held as much noble blood in his veins as did Jacquetta Woodville - the Queen’s mother.

That could not be ignored. 

Yet John was coming around to Clarence’s view. They were of lower birth, and that made it more frustrating. John had been in the receiving end of her sharp tongue already, several times. William Hastings several more. None except the King were happy with her but John had learnt to keep his head down. 

_But fuck..._

Things were only getting worse. Tensions were growing and John knew they would not stop. From a mad king to a king who could not keep his cock in his hoes. Which was worse? Well if Ned had already fucked it like this? 

John stopped his pacing. What was he to do? He had helped to organise this coronation and Ned had offered him credit for which Elizabeth had simply stared at him. She said nothing in the way of thanks, not that he did care about that. Yet she simply wasn’t likeable, and that was bothering John. She would have to adapt, they would have to change her personality else Edward’s regime would fail and that would see Edward toppled. 

They could not afford that, none of them could afford that. Not now. 

John had some major decisions to make he knew that. If he was to attend the coronation, was he endorsing a Queen none could stand? If he did not? Would Edward notice his face was not there? Would he notice? If he did, what would the consequences be? 

He would find out he was sure, despite Warwick’s attendance, despite it all. He was not going. 

No, he could not go. 

**

_October 1465_

Edward had forgiven him quickly for his lack of attendance at Elizabeth’s coronation. He had pleaded illness in the end. Ned had not believed him but had not seen the sense in arguing. 

In September George Neville had, in some act of good will toward the Neville’s, been made Archbishop of York. John had been there to see George into office and to ensure that celebrations did not get out of hand. 

He had not hesitated to return to London though when Ned had summoned him. Mad Henry had been spotted in the midlands and Warwick had been sent to eliminate that threat and bring Henry back to London. John’s heart had been in his mouth from that moment on. Now they all stood in the grounds of the palace freezing their bollocks off as Warwick galloped his horse into the courtyard, Henry’s mount in tow. “Your grace.” Warwick shouted as his dismounted. “I bring for you your latest prisoner.”

John wanted to run over and cut the man’s legs free for Henry looked bedraggled, no threat to a mouse or fly much less a King. There was an absence in his eyes, as there had been before. Before York had been slain. Before any of this had happened...

_Oh Henry._

In time however, Warwick saw under Edward’s orders that the former king was escorted to the tower under Worcester’s own guard. As constable of the Tower that was his job. He would be in charge of caring for their most high-profile captive. He would do so without the same mishandling as had previously been afforded to King’s toppled.

_Edward II, Richard II…_

“He’s to have the best, do you understand me?” Tiptoft spoke to one of the servants who nodded with a confusion. “Tell the men that if I see so much as a hair in his head hurt? I’ll make sure due punishment occurs. Make sure he bathed, shaved and given clothes of his standing. I’ll hear no arguments.” 

He’d hear no arguments from anyone, including the King.

He waited until Henry had been settled in his new rooms before he entered. “John!” Tiptoft almost choked as the man six years John’s elder sounded like a child as his eyes glowed with recognition. “John have you come to take me back to the palace?”

John only shook his head.

“I do not understand.”   
  
No, John thought, you wouldn’t. Henry had always been naïve, and he had not changed in the years on the run. Worcester himself was not sure how Henry could have survived this long, was not sure how he had not been betrayed sooner for the man could be so innocent around people, too trusting of those who would corrupt and betray…

_Somerset…_

“I have come to let you know that you are to be kept here under the command and will of King Edward, here you shall be cared for and protected and by my own eyes I will ensure that is done to the highest of standards.”

“You? Him?” Henry’s mind rolled over visibly in his eyes as he tried to understand. “I am tired. Please leave me.” John frowned as Henry stood, looking at the bed as though he did not know what to do.

**

_11th February 1466  
The Palace of Westminster_

Henry had adapted little to life as a prisoner in the Tower. Indeed, he had grown to be silent once more and barely moved from his bed. Physicians had devised new ways to ensure he ate and he was never alone. It had been passing strange however that the next morning when John had visited him, their previous conversation had been forgotten and Henry had, once again, been happy to see Tiptoft as a visitor.

All the same, John rarely had time to visit the man since Christmas, only irregular checks to ensure his treatment was as expected by King and Constable.

The Queen however had taken much of the courts attention this day. She had been in confinement for her pregnancy for over a month when her day had come. Edward had been nervous, that much was clear. He had paced the palace probably a hundred times when the word came that the babe had been safely delivered and that mother and daughter were fine.   
  
The smile on Warwick’s face when the news the child was a girl had been obvious to Tiptoft. He had been pleased that Edward remained without issue which could cause problems for what Warwick saw as the perfect line of succession – that the throne be passed to George and not any child of ‘the Woodville slut’.

John sat with Warwick now, they were alone, watching the boats on the Thames. “She gave him a girl, John, she gave him a fucking girl.” Warwick sounded giddy with joy. “There’s no way the Woodville’s will be able to grasp power with a girl.”  
  
“There’s still time for them to have a boy. They are young enough-“  
  
“John.” Warwick offered. “Maybe that is so but we will come to that when they get there. A girl. A fucking girl.” Warwick almost cheered as he clapped John on the back before he practically skipped out of the room.   
  
Yes, Tiptoft realised, his role of integrating the Woodville’s was harder than he had ever imagined it would be.


	17. Chapter 17

_Windsor Castle  
Late May 1466_

The situation between the Neville’s and the Woodville’s was one only growing worse. John could not help but observe it. The Neville’s were tense and in truth the feeling was not dissimilar to those of the past – when York and the Neville’s had toppled poor mad King Henry. Tiptoft had even caught Warwick arguing with Wil Hastings.

_“How dare you, how dare you approach me and ask such a question? Are you out of your mind?” Will had shouted down the hall, without a care in the world who heard him. Warwick had been more hushed however._

_“Keep your voice down man.” He had hissed. _

_“You are asking me to ‘take your side’, what am I supposed to think other than that you are planning treason?”_  
  
“Take my side in the Woodville debate, you hate them as much as I do, and I can see that in your eyes.”  
  
They had stopped their bickering as John had walked around the corner, acted as though nothing had happened Of course John had told Edward all that he had heard. That was why he had been irked when Edward had viewed Will and not Warwick with visible suspicion. If only for a few days until he was satisfied that Hastings was not likely to kill him whilst he slept.

No, Hastings was loyal, John was sure of that. He was Edward’s pup, would follow the King around if he could and encouraged his less savoury habits.

Soon after that conversation Ned had called John into his presence with a proposition he had been most unhappy about, but duty had prevailed. When the King had said that the Lancastrian lords were once stirring up hell, this time in Wales, John had been the one sent to stop it. The Welshmen had raised forces as far away as Wrexham and had brought them to Herlech - now Ned wanted to put them down and John was the man to do it.

So he thought. He had been wrong, several weeks had passed without success. John had been forced to flee with several thousand men when all had backfired. He cursed himself for that, knowing when Ned entered this room he would be furious. When the doors crashed open he half expected Edward to start shouting, when he did not John wondered why – looking up he saw the King followed by his wife Tiptoft tried to hide his eye roll but could not.

“Your graces.” John offered as he bowed.   
  
“I have told you before, it’s Edward-“  
  
“Madam will suffice.” Elizabeth offered in a tone which made John want to scream.

“Rise up man.” Edward snapped. “Wales has not been put down so I hear. What happened?”  
  
“Their numbers were bigger than ours, their skills greater.”  
  
“You’re saying I sent the wrong man?” Edward arched an eyebrow.

“I am saying John Neville or Dick would have done a better job.”  
  
“How humble of you.” Elizabeth smiled. Tiptoft only nodded to acknowledge she had spoken.

“Perhaps, but I would not trust Warwick so far as I could throw him, as for the Earl of Northumberland? Well John is too likely to get himself captured if you ask me from his track history but maybe you are right, maybe he should have accompanied you. I made a mistake.”  
  
“Or,” Elizabeth started. “he failed.”

Edward brushed over her comment as though she had not spoken. “You are still planning my tournament I hear? How goes that?”  
  
“Well Edward, I am ironing out the finer details now.”  
  
“Good. Very Good. You are dismissed.”

**

_London   
June 1466_

She was radiant, positively radiant.

Roger Corbet was a man John had known for some years. They had met in Oxford when Roger had visited the city, visited the city and John was not ashamed to say they got drunk together. When Roger had married Elizabeth Hopton, John had been there to see the woman walking like an angel through the church. The way the light had cascaded through the windows, glowing behind her…

John gulped as he looked at the lass now, sitting in his London residence talking about everything women should and nothing they should not – nothing he did not want to hear about whilst he was away from Ned’s presence in Windsor. He did not want to talk politics and nor did she. Even if Roger kept pushing on the topic of what was going on the Edward’s court – information to which he was not privy.

John’s eyes slipped over the woman whilst she talked, she noticed, that was sure for she grinned at him but said not a word of it.

It was just before midnight that they each stated they would retire to their rooms. John had no intention of sleeping, none at all. He could not have if he had tried. Not with the aching in his groin. He had hoped to relieve it, indeed had been ready to when the knock on the door happened before it opened. He just had time to throw the coverlets over himself before she came in.   
  
He bent a knee hoping to hide the cause of his pains.

“Elizabeth, to what do I owe this honour at such a late hour?”  
  
He noticed she was blushing, her eyes fixed where he did not want them to be. She did not seem to care however, It did not make her turn out of the room as he had expected. “I just wanted to say thank you, for a lovely evening.”  
  
“Thank you, but you could have thanked me in the morning.” He smirked, watching her every moment with longing as she approached slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed, she placed her hand on his thigh. Tingles went through him. He wanted to sigh with pleasure, swallowed it.

“Eliza-“  
  
She stroked up and down his thigh gently. “You know, Roger is asleep, he does not know I have come to see you.”  
  
“You.” He gulped “Are married.” His hand rested on hers, stopping her strokes, though he did not desire to move her hand. “You shouldn’t be in here alone. Not now.”  
  
“Is now inconvenient for you my lord?” She winked.   
  
“I think you know it is.”  
  
“I think what I know is that I enjoy your company.” She went to kiss him, stopped as his hands rested on her shoulders.   
  
“I think, Elizabeth, you have had too much wine. Go back to your husband.” She looked surprised, astounded, but all the same. Without further hesitation she nodded, retreating with a small smile.

A small smile which said that should he change his mind, he need only tell her.

_Thou shalt not covet another man’s wife. _

Yes, he should not covet another man’s wife…

“Wait.” He shouted, jumping from the bed to greet her as she came back into the room. His lips attacked hers as his hand drew her close.


	18. Chapter 18

_Ireland  
September 1467_

He had said his goodbyes, sold many lands and intended to make this last. Court had become too toxic once again and tensions between Edward and Warwick now grew. The Woodville’s had brought a rift between the two men who had once been inseparable and once again people were forced to choose sides. George, Ned’s middle brother, had become increasingly alienated by the King – a point for which John had openly criticised Ned and risked the man’s fury.

Yet it had not been received. John had been happy when Edward had finally agreed to allow George a place in the tournament which Tiptoft himself had been planning. It turned out that place was one which humiliated the young Duke and made Anthony fucking Woodville look the star. Even John had walked away from that angry, and when he had foolishly tried to calm George when Clarence had exited the tournament grounds, he had narrowly avoided a slap when he had tried to make excuses for the King in a hope George would see reason for he was murderous.

It had not been that long before the tournament that Edward had informed Tiptoft that he needed him in Ireland to ‘bring justice and authority to current misrule.’

By September John had been happy to leave England behind but not before doing one thing. Roger Corbet had died in June leaving Elizabeth a widow. A widow who was vulnerable and John, her now long-term lover, had been unable to see that. As such, they had married without authority from the King in Ludlow just days before they both set sail for Ireland.

Ned had not failed to catch up with this and as soon as John had reached his new Irish residence Ned had got a letter there asking him to beg pardon or face a fine. Of course, John knew a fine would happen but all the same he had returned a letter of apology and “duly received a fine of £10 which remained unpaid.

“It’s beautiful.” Elizabeth made him jump for she had not been in the room as he thought. She had entered so silently, her hands looped around his chest before she kissed his cheek. “So are you.” He smiled, turning his head to kiss her.  
  
“I did never think of Ireland being so beautiful I will grant you that. The land of disorder and chaos.” He smirked.

“Hmm.” She grinned, turning as the door opened. A servant held the door open before he spoke.  
  
“My lord, the Earl of Desmond.” Thomas FitzGerald smiled as he entered, John looked him up and down as he stood.

“My lord.” FitzGerald spoke with an accent now tinted with Irish.

“Johm, please.”  
  
“Thomas.”

“Elizabeth, my love, leave us, we must discuss in private.”  


**

_Drogheda, Ireland  
1468_

Discuss they did. They had discussed politics, they had discussed Ned’s government – of which Desmond had proved himself critical. That itself had irked John. Yet he had stomached it and they had talked about Ireland and the disorder brewing The Earl had insisted it was beyond his control. That was a story John had not believed. John did not like him.  
  
He liked him less when William Sherwood, Bishop of Meath had introduced himself and explained things about Desmond the Earl had naturally missed out. Tiptoft had been sent because in 1466, Desmond had failed to supress rebels and had weakened English rule in Ireland. A move for which the Irish loved him, but any God-fearing Englishman hated it.

Desmond now entered a hall filled with Lords and peers. Men who were loyal to the King. William Sherwood, Bishop of Meath sat next to John grinning as the Earl entered. He whispered to John. “Don’t forget our position, John.” Tiptoft only nodded, he gave nothing away.

Desmond had been accused of treason, yet the look on his face suggested that he believed John would be merciful.

“John, this is ridiculous.” Desmond started, stopping and falling silent as John held up his hand.  
  
“You have been convicted by a jury of peers of treason against both King Edward and indeed against England.” John spoke clearly, watching the man as he began to protest.

“I am loyal, there is no man more loyal.”  
  
John frowned. Desmond had been one man who had protested against the King’s marriage to the Queen. He had been one of the main protesters, calling her an upstart.

“Silence!” Sherwood snapped. “We have heard enough from you.”  
  
“Thomas FitzGerald, under the law and will of King Edward, I use the authority granted to me to sentence you, without delay, to death. You shall be taken from here-“  
  
“John! This is insane! I have done nothing wrong! Please, be merciful-“  
  
Tiptoft spoke over the man as he protested. “to a place of execution and there your head shall be removed.”  
  
“I expected mercy! The King promised me mercy!”  
  
“Take him away.” John stood with those words, leaving the room. Sherwood followed him.  
  
“Nicely done.”

John only nodded. He knew the warrant he had received had contained the royal seal, knew it had ordered Desmond’s death. He also knew that it had, in fact, not come from the King. He had recognised the handwriting as the Queen and recognised that whilst good the signature was forged. All the same, duty had dictated the Irish threat be eliminated – and any threat to the Queen’s person be removed.

“He has two son’s of an age they could reasonable contest our – the King’s” He corrected himself quickly. “Authority.”  
  
And the Queen’s right to rule beside her husband….

“Find them and when you do, make sure they’re no longer a threat.” He drew a finger across his throat.”  
  
Necessity dictated it, he was after all duty bound to act in the interests of the crown.


	19. Chapter 19

_London   
20th November 1469_

Despite his anger, Ned had not brought John straight back to London. Although he had threatened to. In truth, the King had bigger things on his mind than a traitor on his son’s. Warwick and George had caused problems. Dick had thought himself a King maker and had now threatened to put George on the throne in Ned’s place, claiming Ned was a bastard who had no claim to the throne. What was worse, John had found out from his niece that Warwick had married George to his own daughter Isabelle Neville.

Tiptoft had been angered but not surprised by Warwick’s actions. The man grew increasingly treasonous and Ned had been blind to it. He would not act if only for previous loyalties.

What was worse, his niece had informed him with her husband’s authority that Warwick had, in July, taken Edward prisoner at Warwick then Middleham. Will Hastings had arranged collection of the King and raised half the Lords of England – the King’s brother Richard of Gloucester included. They had stormed Middleham castle and freed Edward. Hastings, John knew, would be proud of himself. Proud, but the Chamberlain had let this happen.

Tiptoft waited now in the painted chamber at Westminster Palace. Edward had personally reprimanded him for his actions in Ireland – actions which had almost seen rebellion and had tarred John’s name. He knew already he was becoming increasingly unpopular. Murmurs happened in the streets. He had used civil law to execute the Earl of Oxford several years before, he had then executed a popular lord and his son’s. That the people would not forget any time soon – even the people of London.

After all, they feared now not only for their lives but for that of their son’s too – at least that was what he had heard.

“The problem with Warwick.” John spoke in a low voice to Edward. “Has it been solved? You are sure?”  
  
“I am sure. He has asked my forgiveness and I granted it.”

“Yes, but does that mean he won’t do this again? Someone should keep an eye on him.” John looked to Hastings who nodded.

“Ridiculous.” Edward snapped. “I will not have someone watching his every move, and George is my brother before you say one more word about this situation, either of you.”  
  
“Your brother he may be.” Tiptoft risked Ned’s dissatisfaction with what he was about to say. “But he has been involved in Warwick’s treason and it is foolish to forgive without any terms attached to this. I understand you do not wish to make powerful enemies, but understand Ned, you already have.”  
  
“And what would you have me do John? Execute my own kin? No. I cannot do that. _I _understand that executions cannot just be for the sake of executions. You cannot merely attach a label of treason to those in positions of power and expect it to stick and go your way. You must think of the reactions first.”  
  
John frowned, bit his lip to stop any wise remark he may have had. Ned had taken a made a direct hit at him, he knew that. Hastings looked thoroughly uncomfortable. Yet in the chamberlain’s eyes was an agreement with John. They could not just forgive Warwick and George for their rebellions. They could not forgive them at all.   
  
John was sure the Queen agreed, positive the Queen agreed. That was why later that day he paid visit to her.

“How can I help you my Lord Worcester?” Elizabeth spoke to him as she sat, her ladies beside her working on their tapestries. Princess Elizabeth sat at her mother’s feet, playing with the hem of her dress.  
  
“Your daughter is beautiful, madam.”  
  
“Thank you, now how can I help?”  
  
“I wanted to know your views on the situation with Warwick? I would protect yourself and your husband, but I would like to know if he is a threat, for Ned does not think that he is.”

“Ned is a fool.” She sighed. “The Earl of Warwick is perhaps the biggest threat there is to my husband’s reign. The biggest threat there ever has been.”

He nodded.   
  
“John, be sure you keep an eye on him, I would not trust him as far I could throw him. I would not trust him at all. My husband trusts too readily, and that is problematic. He cannot let go of the lost days where they were friends, the closest of friends to use his words. But Edward was little more than a boy then, easily led and a puppet to Warwick. Now he is not? He is an inconvenience which Warwick would eliminate given half the chance.” She frowned. “And mind yourself too. If you take my husband’s side? Warwick will hate you too.”  
  
“Thank you your grace.” John turned on his feet, pausing before he walked and looked back. “Madam I have one more question.”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Did you sign the warrant for Wathe death of Thomas FitzGerald?”  
  
“I have positively no idea what you’re talking about.” She shooed him with one hand. He did not pry.

**

Elizabeth Tiptoft kept out of politics. She had overlooked the situation as John had ruled in Ireland and said not a word, though he knew she had more than disapproved of his tactics around Desmond’s death.

In truth he had gained from that, had rid himself of a man he could not stand but had above all let duty prevail.

Now she sat brushing her hair naked before a mirror. He had wrapped the sheets around his waist. “Elizabeth.” She looked to him, looked then toward the door as it opened without warning. Their son’s nurse stood holding him before she blushed turning to leave. Edward Tiptoft had been born in Ireland 8 months after their arrival there. The child was healthy and playful – perhaps too playful. The lad had already had several injuries for toddling around too quickly or playing too hard with dogs. They waited for the door to close before John continued, “The queen feels Warwick is a threat and I do not know what to do.”  
  
“What does Edward say?”  
  
“Edward says he is not but sometimes? Edward does not know his arse from his elbow. He is blinded by sentimentality.”  
  
“Then, he is perhaps a threat but John, you need to decide which side you’re on and make sure you’re on the winning side.”  
  
“The only side I can choose is Edward’s else it’s treason. I can say for sure I have burned too many bridges to turn back now.”  
  
“Then you must make sure that Edward stays securely on that throne. Do what it takes.” She stood, walking toward him she put her hand on his face. “Just make sure you don’t end up on the wrong side John, our son does not need that.”


	20. Chapter 20

_Stamford, Lincolnshire  
12th March 1470_

Henry Percy had, after a long stay in the Tower and with the opportunity which stemmed from the repeated Neville rebellions, sworn fealty to Edward. His titles and lands had been removed from John Neville and returned to the Percy family. Whilst Johnny had been made a Maquess and his son a Duke, an elevation for both, Johnny had been audible dissatisfied. He had stormed away from court calling Edward a cunt. Neville had expected Tiptoft to intervene, for after all, the birth of Titpoft’s son had disinherited the Marquess of a significant chunk of Tiptoft lands.

Elizabeth Woodville had only started to make things worse. She had not forgiven Warwick and Clarence for their execution of her father and brother – which John had to admit was reasonable. She did however break every convention. She showed her hatred too readily and that was causing its own problems. Afterall was it not her they all wanted to topple? If they could have got rid of the wench? Edward would have been safe until it went this far. Now? Things were irreparable between the Earl of Warwick and the King.

There were rebellions in Lincolnshire and Edward had decided to ride out into the fire. It had been the only choice, he needed to be seen and to exert authority for there were calls for mad King Henry to be restored to the throne. A man which Tiptoft could testify was growing more insane as days went on. Regardless how many physicians intervened. Worcester had been reluctant to leave the man behind in London, fearing that now with so much unrest he may come to harm. May come to harm and whilst that itself would be a cause to mourn, it would place Ned in very real danger. It would make Edward of Lancaster, Henry’s son, a suitable candidate to take back the throne. He had neither the insanity nor the nature to often be lenient. With his father murdered? He would invade England without delay and take down the current King of England at any costs.

That could not be allowed to happen.   
  
Yet Edward had insisted that John ride north with him. He could not and did not refuse. With Worcester’s own men posted at every entrance to the Tower’s many buildings, he had left London with the King and Hastings at his side. In early January, Lord Welles and his brother had been causing trouble. They raided the house of Edward’s ‘Master of the Horse.’ A move Ned had been unwilling to act upon. However, rumours of Warwick and George’s involvement had pricked his ears, and he had decided in February to raise commissions for the south and east of England. It was not until the 2nd March, with the least chance to warn his brother, that Ned sent word to John Neville in Yorkshire ordering that every man able to fight be mustered.

Edward had met with Welles and his brother upon a demand they appear before him. John had half expected that they might be executed on the spot, had prepared himself for it. By now execution was not just a necessary evil. He was now prepared to order an execution without a shaking hand. Was now used to the power Ned had bestowed upon him. Power which made him understand those sights in Rhodes. Power which made him accept it a whole lot more.

It was not until the 8th March they had finally set out with Welles and his brother in tow. All because Welles son had decided to start a further rebellion. A rebellion Ned had anticipated. He had declared he would join up with Warwick and Clarence. That had not happened.

“What’s on your mind John?” His thoughts were interrupted by Hastings as the man sauntered over, sitting himself on the stool. They sat in the King’s tent. Edward was looking over papers in silence. He did not even look up as the Chamberlain spoke.

“Nothing.” He lied. All he could focus on was the trouble he felt within him. Warwick and Clarence had not joined them, and rumours were once again circulating of their involvement. What was worse was that Edward had stated he trusted them implicitly. Will too had looked concerned at that too. Though neither had spoken a word of their concerns. Not through fear of the King’s reactions, both would have risked his anger for his safety, no, but because it was pointless. Edward would not listen to their warnings.

He may listen to John’s warnings about the topic he was about to broach however. Lord Welles son Robert grew closer with his rebellion in the hope to retake is father and murder the King, restoring Henry to the throne as the men of Lincolnshire wanted.

“Ned, a word if you would?”  
  
The King sighed, looking at him with eyes a piercing blue. “John?”  
  
“It’s about Welles and Dymoke.”   
  
“What of them?” He groaned. “Welles son is a pain the arse and nothing more.”  
  
“I am afraid he is a threat.” Will offered. “Not merely a pain in the arse.”  
  
“They were my thoughts as well.”  
  
Edward looked between them both. “So what more would you have me do about it?”  
  
“Don’t give him what he wants, to give him the opportunity to get what he wants.” John uttered. “He wants his father and uncle free, but if you do that they can raise men against you as well.”  
  
“I am aware of that and do not doubt that they would.”

“Exactly, but what if I said you could eliminate this threat? Altogether?”  
  
“I’m listening.”  
  
“Execute Welles and Dymoke.”

“Without cause?” Will stood, approaching. He looked critical, Worcester only shrugged. Edward looked at John, frowned. When Tiptoft said nothing, allowing the king more time to think, Hastings interjected. “That could work you know.”  
  
“If Welles son heard his father was dead? Essentially murdered? What then?” Edward snapped. “I am not adverse to beheading them but why spur Welles son to open attack?”  
  
“Because it will go that way anyway Edward. Don’t be naïve about this.” Tiptoft groaned. He removed his cap and ran a hand through his hair.

“We don’t let it get to be an open attack on Robert Welles point, Ned.” Will offered. “We swing our army around and we meet him, tonight.”

“What?” John and Edward said in unison.   
  
“They’re close enough.” Hastings shrugged. “And we can find out then who was involved in this cursed rebellion. I sense Warwick’s name behind it all. He is stirring it up and I cannot be told otherwise.”

Edward glared at Will. “He’s not, I am sure, but very well. John. Ensure it’s done. Let’s prove my lord Hastings wrong once and for all. Will. Whilst you’re looking so smug, get the men ready to march. Once their heads are off, we need to be ready to move. Without delay.”

**

_13th March 1470_

Their plan had worked. Welles and Dymoke had been executed and they had forced Robert Welles hand. Forced it, and they had won he was now well and securely in their custody. With that they had learnt that Warwick and Clarence had helped to organise the whole affair and Edward had ordered Warwick and Clarence to disband their armies and appear before him. John knew of course Ned would not grant pardon this time and both men would be imprisoned in the Tower upon return to London.

That was if they dared to show their faces. Otherwise, and Worcester could only hope, they would be chased down like dogs and that threat quite reliably would be removed.

He sighed, skipped over the tent peg he nearly tripped on, cursing. Last night Edward had wanted to go into Stamford town to celebrate their victory. Foolishly, John had thought. That was why John and Will had been sure to go with him. Will and Edward had taken too much to drinks and women that night. That was why Edward paced back and forth, a hand shadowing his eyes. “Morning.” Tiptoft smirked, grinning as Edward looked at him.   
  
“What’s so good about it?”  
  
“I did not say it was good, I simply said it was morning.” Edward groaned. “You called me here?”  
  
“Yes indeed.” The King pointed toward a chair, sighing as the shouts filled the camp once more. All morning their prisoners had been making protests of their captivity. Edward leaned out of his tent. “Someone shut them up!” John lowered himself into the chair, waiting for Edward to sit himself on the cloth below their feet. He laid down, John knew it was to stop the world spinning. “I think you have been loyal.”  
  
“I try to be Edward.”  
  
“And I have noticed. As such I was to elevate your status. I sought Will’s council and he agrees that under the circumstances you are the ideal candidate.”  
  
“I am intrigued.”

“I once again want to make you constable of England but know I have made the decision to remove from my brother George the title of Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. He has made too many treasonous actions and I cannot have it.” Edward sat up then, pointing to John. “I want you to have that title too.”

John froze.   
  
“Me? You have another brother-“  
  
“And I will not make the mistake of bestowing so many honours on him when he too may turn around and throw them back in my face or worse!” Edward instantly regretted how loud his voice went. “Look John, you can refuse, but man, you have earnt it. Accept it and be proud of yourself.”

John just sat a moment speechless.   
  
What did he say to being given a position assigned solely for royalty?


	21. Chapter 21

_Southampton, Hampshire_   
_Early May 1470_

  
Events had happened which had changed John’s life quite majorly. When faced with the accusation not of betrayal but of treason Warwick, that ‘great’ Earl, had shown his courage and true colours when he and George of Clarence had fled the country with heavily pregnant Isabelle Neville, George’s new wife, at their side. Shameless, spineless, swines. Johnny remained loyal, that was something.

Tiptoft walked slowly.

  
What was he to do?

  
Edward had made a decisive move not to forgive his cousin Warwick. He had removed lands belonging to the Earl and distributed them to his favourites. Now Tiptoft had been included in that. He held power, he held lands, he held money. He held it all, and all would annoy Dick. At his expense? It did not matter who you were, how close you had been, if you were granted something in his place, especially if it had been his? He would hate you for it.

  
_Christ Dick… John thought… Christ you made yourself too ambitious. _

_  
Too ambitious and you played the wrong man at cards. You gambled against Ned, called his bluff and now what? You begged at the feet of the French King Louis in the hope he would have mercy upon you?_

  
What had he become?

  
John frowned as he looked at the men held in restraints. “You’re a cunt.” One of the barked.

  
“Shut up!” His captor booted his knees sending him to the floor.

  
Tiptoft smirked. “I’ve been called worse. Help him up.”

  
These men had been caught off the coast of England by Anthony Woodville, the Queen’s brother. “I’ll give you worse.”

  
“I tend to agree.” Tiptoft offered “Shut up.”

  
Hastings beside him chuckled. “I’d have slapped him if he spoke to me like that.” Tiptoft shrugged.

“I’m not you, Will.”

  
No he was not, and that was part of the reason why Edward had asked him and not Will to pass judgement and sentence on these men.

  
“_Make an example of the fuckers.” _

_“Yes Ned. Any way particularly?”_

_  
“Use your imagination.”_

  
John now chuckled to himself, earning a look from Hastings.

  
“Do you all know why you’re here?”  
“Piracy.” One of them spoke.

  
“And treason. Piracy, and treason.” Tiptoft corrected. “Both are crimes punishable by death.” The men were silent. Only the wind whistled through John’s ears and blew hot on his skin. For a moment he forgot where he was, what he was doing. He remembered those days in Rhodes and the holy land. His eyes closed. “You will all be taken and executed by beheading.”

  
“What?” Hastings offered in disbelief. Beheading was a punishment earned only by the highest status of men. Not lowlife pirates.

  
John chose to ignore him.

  
“Once dead your heads shall be displayed above your bodies.”

  
“Above? John?” Hastings sounded confused. “I don’t understand.”

  
“You.” He pointed to one of the men holding their prisoners. “He can go first and then you see to it that there are spikes erected big enough for bodies and head.”

  
“What?” Hastings asked, following John.

  
“Are you going to follow me like a puppy?” John turned to the chamberlain.

  
“Until you tell me what the hell you’re planning, yes.”

  
“Very well but you won’t like it.”

  
“John!” Hastings pulled the same tone Tiptoft’s mother had so often pulled. John could not help put ruffle Will’s head in retaliation. “I swear to God!”

  
“They will be impaled on spikes like the animals they are.”

  
John walked, leaving a drip white Hastings behind. It was quite clear, he was about to be sick.

John looked back as he walked away. “It was Ned that said make an example of them, that’s just what I’m doing.”


	22. Chapter 22

Late September 1470

Doncaster, South Yorkshire.

Fortunes change at the drop of a hat as Lady Luck chooses.

Warwick had waited some months planning his return to England and during that time he had begged on his knees for the French whore of Anjou to forgive him. Had married is daughter Anne to Edward the son of Mad Henry. Now both his daughters had a claim to the throne. 

Christ, this was bad. 

That was what John had thought until Warwick had, by Tiptoft and Edward’s own mistake, landed in England. Their forces to stop him had been in the wrong place. 

Shit.

What was worse? John Neville, loyal old Johnny, had changed sides and declared for his brother. Now Ned paced back and forth. 

“Fuck!” Edward suddenly shouted. “Shit!” He looked at John with eyes like fire. “You gave me the wrong advice.”

“That isn’t going to help.” Tiptoft offered with a snap. “Decisions have been made and yourself and my lord Hastings were complicit.” 

“Well what the fuck am I to do?” 

“Run:” Hastings suggested. “We run.”

“To where exactly?”

“Burgundy. We still have friends there.” 

John nodded. “It is the option.”

“Very well.” Edward seemed suddenly calmer. “we go but must get word to Elizabeth.”

“And we shall.” John said. “I’ll go. I’ll go and I’ll join you in Burgundy.” 

***

3rd October 1470

London

He had rode like all of hell was at his tail. Rode to the Queen in the Tower to warm her of her husband’s departure from the country, had seen her and the children into sanctuary. He had done his duty before he rode to his London residence. 

His son slept with quiet snores. “John.” She made him jump. He had not noticed the candle light behind him. “What did you do?” Her tone was deadpan. “Don’t talk except to tell me is it true?”

“Yes, it’s true.” He whispered, gulping back whatever emotion he almost allowed himself to feel. 

“Jesus.” She crosses herself. “We can put that behind us. You’re home?” 

“No.” He shook his head, his whole body shook. He knew it. This was perhaps to be the hardest moment of his life. His hand stroked gently down the boys cheek. 

“You’ll wake him.” Her arm looped around his back. “John you’re shaking.” He only nodded. 

“Elizabeth I need you to listen to me, carefully.” 

“You’re scaring me John.” 

“Not as much as I’ve scared myself.” He looked around. “I wasn’t here, do you understand? No one can know. Not a servant, not a mouse. No one.” 

“John, what. Have. You. Done?”

“I’ve made enemies of the wrong side.” 

“Edward? But I do not understand-“

“Edward fled. He left England and if he returns? They’ll kill him.”

“What?” She almost choked. “And you did all of that for Edward? That means-“

“If they catch me? I’ll be dead too.”

“Where are Edwards men? Why are you not accompanied? Why is he not putting up some resistance.”

“We will.” He smiled, knowing he would not. “Understand that. When he’s ready we will put up resistance.”

She nodded.

“Wake him up.” He nodded toward their son. “And leave for Cambridge. Keep your head down.”

“And remember you weren’t here.”

He took her in his arms, his lips attacking hers before her broke away. “I love you Elizabeth. Never forget that. Whatever I’ve done, whatever I have to do now? Forgive me?”

“It’s God you have to ask for forgiveness. I will always forgive you.”

She kissed his cheek. 

“John.” She took his head as he went to leave. “Promise me you won’t die? Not yet? Go to Edward.”

He had volunteered for this suicide mission. He had known the risks... 

“I promise.” 


	23. Chapter 23

_Huntingdonshire, England_

_October 1470_

These lands had been granted to him in 1461 when Ned had first found himself on the throne. Yes, these lands had been granted to him when things had been so much easier, so much more simple. When Ned and Warwick had been allies and had that remained the same? Had Ned not married Elizabeth? England would not once more been ruled by a madman and a tyrant.

Oh Ned, John thought, why did you have to think with your cock?

“My lord!” The voice was one he did not recognise, followed by one he did.   
  
“John!” Johnny shouted. They covered the ground of the forest at a slow pace. A pace he could outrun, a pace that had his horse not been stabled in the nearest village he could have fled. He was not going to take that risk now, their voices were too near. “John! We know you’re here somewhere!” Neville shouted. In the distance John caught sight of movement. They were close now.

He climbed up another branch, nearly lost his footing, nearly fell. Leaves fell rapidly from the trees. Damn, he thought, damn why was this happening in autumn when leaves fell from trees? When there was minimal covering to hide him from his enemies.

“Wait.” Tiptoft heard John Neville speak. “I said wait you scoundrels. Have we been looking up?” There was no answer that Worcester heard, none John Neville heard either, clearly, for he bellowed. “I said have we been looking up?!”

“N..no my lord.”  
  
“No,” Johnny barked. “No we fucking haven’t.” He snapped. “We go forward, we look up, we turn back and hope to God he hasn’t fled.”   
  
Fled? There was no time now. He closed his eyes.

  
Shit.

He could climb higher, he thought, maybe they would not see him? Yet if they were below the tree as he climbed, they’d know he was there. No, he put his back against the trunk. He would wait.   
  
He did not have to wait long before the familiar voice spoke gently. “I don’t know why you’re dressed as a shepherd, as though that would help you uncle, but you must come down now, it’s over.”

Yes, it was over, thank God.

**

_London. _

“John.” Warwick greeted him as he was helped down from the horse. His hands had been bound, John Neville had seen to that. “Unbind his hands, he won’t hurt me.” In truth John wanted to wring his neck, wanted to see him dead for this betrayal, for his treason.

He could not, too many armed men surrounded him.

“John what have you done?” Warwick put an arm around him, taking a dagger from his belt a no man stepped forward to free his hands. Dick took the dagger to the ropes and walked, taking John with him. “I forgive you for your actions against my men. I am sure God will forgive you too, for I know on whose behalf you were acting. The swine has fled the country-“  
  
“I may have acted on the Kings-“  
  
Warwick spoke over him. “The usurpers_”  
  
“Behalf but I assure you those actions were not his but my own. I will not see the man _you _put on the throne blamed for that.”   
  
“Your loyalty to him means nothing now. It is misguided and Henry is inclined to forgive you, but Lord above John you need to stop backing Edward. You need to be prepared to beg on your knees for that forgiveness, however degrading and John you need to be prepared to die in battle for the King.”  
  
“I am prepared to die in battle for the King, Dick, I am. That king however is not a madman.”

John’s body jolted as Warwick landed a blow to the back of his head. “Has that knocked some sense into you man? I am giving you a way out of certain death.”

“I’m not a fool, _you_ are doing nothing for me. You are the messenger Dick.” Tiptoft chuckled. “You are Henry’s messenger and he is inclined to forgive me for the service I paid to him those years ago. Well, for all the crimes his French bitch of a wife has inflicted on this country, for their actions at Ludlow which I am sure even you cannot forgive they can stick it up their own arses. I’ve made my bed and I will happily lay in it. I will not grovel before a man no more fit and worthy to be King than I am. I will grovel before God for His forgiveness, but never yours nor Henry’s.” 

John grinned as Dick bit his lip, thunder evident on his face.

  
“You pull the strings Dick, I know this, and I won’t bow down to you of all people.”

“Shut him up.” Dick snapped, Worcester doubled over as one of the men guarding him sent a blow to his stomach. “Take him to the Tower. We can decide what will happen to him whilst he’s there.” 


	24. Chapter 24

October 1470

Why had it come to this?

Richard Neville walked through the Tower at dawn. 

All of this because of one common whore. It needn’t have come to this.

Had you asked him when they had won the blood drenched victory at Towton if he would see Edward flee from England? 

No. 

He would have said no.

Had you asked him if he would see his past brother in law condemned to death? His hands were cold at the idea. John Tiptoft had been a friend and dare he say companion. On many occasion they had worked closely together, even when Warwick’s sister Cecily, Tiptoft’S first wife had died. Even then they had been close, serving at trials together and helping to run the country.

But then Edward had married the slut. Then things had changed. Tiptoft had been distant from the queen, as they all had. Yet he had not held the same hatred for her. That initially had not dampened their relationship. No. Initially it made no difference. 

He stopped. Looked at the door to the room in which John was being held. He looked at the guard hesitated. 

John had gone down a slippery slope in his desire to please Ned. He had ever been duty bound, but duty did not include dishonouring those who he had executed. That he had done alone. He had stood alone and would die alone for it.

Warwick waved his fingers in a sign he wanted the door opened. He was ready.

Or was he? He had not wanted to do this, despite all Tiptoft had done. Warwick had wanted to save him, knew he could be saved. Yet it had come from his advisors. Queen Margaret would not forgive the failure to execute anyone she saw as a traitor. John now fit that bill. 

“John.” Tiptoft looked up, whatever he felt he did not show it. He showed none of the hatred Warwick had expected. Showed nothing but bravery as he stood and left the cell. 

“I’m ready.” The monks who had sat with him all night followed him. “I beg your lord to let them come with me.” Warwick nodded, he was not one to stop a man gaining his religious rights. 

They walked in silence. John had asked, not been ordered, but had asked to wear the simplest most modest of clothes. Open sandals in his feet. He had stripped himself of his status, even if the King had refused even now to strip him of his title. 

They left the tower in as much silence as they had started their journey. He stopped then, John, he paused, his eyes closing as the first of the crowds had begun to gather. Amongst the first faces was his wife, Warwick recognised her and cursed internally, it was John who muttered aloud. “Jesu, Lord, give me the strength to take this ordeal with bravery.” He started walking again, it was only as Elizabeth gripped his arm as they walked past that Warwick saw the pain in John’s eyes.

Whatever they did to him now, Warwick knew it did not matter. Tiptoft shed a tear, Warwick was sure he saw it, as he tore his arm away from his wife’s grip. 

***

The crowds had only grown as they walked through the city. To a point they had been forced to halt progress. John had been locked away for the night, fees wavered. Men outside the prison walls chanted for his death, and by morning whilst the crowds had thinned they had not abated. London wanted blood. 

With the same emotionless determination, John rose from his knees that morning. Walking with Warwick toward Tower Hill. The walk took the morning, by the end, Warwick saw his friends limp. 

The scaffold did not intimidate him. Indeed he smiled as he looked. It was decorated with tapestries and fine fabrics. “Dick.” Warwick jumped as John gripped his hand shaking it firmly. “You have been kind to me.” 

Warwick had no words, only watched silently as John uttered his prayers, kneeling before the scaffold where he asked the priest to bless him before he handed himself over to the executioner. 

“Three blows.” He said loudly, enough that Warwick heard. “Remove my head with three blows, one for each of the Holy Trinity.” 

Warwick closed his eyes, crossing himself as he turned away. He could not watch, only listen as he heard the three blows and not a sound from the Earl. 


End file.
